/ 

1 

t 


f \ 



\ 


s 



I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 





,op2nc|lif ^0 


f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 





« 


» 



* 






,r- ’ • , 

■ 

- A 


,% f 


> 



I 





« 



, i 
* ^ 

' 1 *. 







s'l * 


r<- 


Nt. 

:\n 

■'J: 




a* ' 








J 


4 


N 


'>.' •• •• * ’ ' 

»*\ u fr ■ ■ ; ' 

■I,**' 

^ - r\. ' 4 fi'i <>.-. \ 




^ \ ^ f . 


A'i : 

^ • . 

1 




■ i 

f 



, 

*% 



^ • 


• 

m 

-■ ';•/ 


\ 

% 

■' ^ ■ * ’ 

f'ti T'”^* 

* ^ 

i* ‘ 

» 

• * 

‘ *'/ • ^ 

• . 



to 


l» * 

V. • r 


. •- / • 

• 

• 



< r : 

V< .. 




V>- 

. f 












I • 


; jHOMMAH 




■ .Yoa o^iva >iaii azA >i3htum hht 



■V'/t' 




*tZ 


I- 


n'.O - • 

Pf- 


v« 


. KIM 'i MO MilX?- ViA 





Alice Harmon; 

ANB 


THE MOTHER AND HER DYING BOY. 


BY 

AN EXILE OF ERIN. 





NEW YORK: 

D. & J. SADLIER & CO., No. 31 BARCLAY STREET. 
MONTREAL : 27S NOTRE DAME STREET. 

1874. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 
D. & J. SADLIER & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


1 Si ‘ ^3? 


JOHN ROSS AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 
I’ 


DEDICATION 

TO A REVEREND FRIEND. 


Dear Friend : I dedicate this poor little 
work to you, because you are well acquainted 
with the scenes described in its pages ; because 
you are connected in blood with one of the 
holiest characters in the story; because your 
friends on the other side of the ocean are in- 
timately acquainted with mine ; and because I 
myself have felt deeply indebted for many 
hours and days of peace and health and joy to 
your universally-acknowledged good-nature, 
good-humor, and kindness. 

Hoping that God will prolong your days, 
give me an opportunity of cultivating more 
closely your desirable friendship, and make the 
people of your. parish feel more fully the love 
nnd gratitude they owe you, I am, reverend 
and dear sir, yours ever faithfully in Christ, 


The Author. 








'♦.i’ 


I 


.8 


f 'i 

d X 


T 14 0.0 


I 


■ ^ 

.1 ;iiiT;tAu:) , 

ftattJ 

.if ,. ; ••'V‘ » 

: ■ ,x,Wf!Hj;'f, ni'Witn jtiT ' ; \ lal 


' .; '. . ,!IT jSift'i/.H:* - . , ■ 

. j» U ! ,ar*i;?/»i rA i i cii Dd) ftT» jfwImwW 

-Vf sa'Pt/ai::) . ’ ,/ 

<'\- 

\D;a«K bit* ttOito^p<3 

I - ' ' * ■ ' > * 

~ faijij loorfcyB aj^&UiV j 



iV vJdl"(AHO . 

Qk- , *' ,cxjiilv^j7 larflti ‘ 

v,--v ^ ^ - 

:: . . ■ ; -iiv ' • - • . j 

• ^ .'Oyj^rtS lC'iji.';iV a'normdH 39?fA j/ ■ 

. ' - ; Vi\' ' ' • - 

' ' - • • 

’V » fl%, , . > / ^ yr>yic\£^ttf!i7 V siavt J ^'^/ ; 

^ - - ■ ^ ' •■ ■'. ' 

•V ' ..• ' I'.'i ’'Mai !v^‘S 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

An Irish Village, 

CHAPTER IL 

The Harmon Family, 

CHAPTER HI. 

Moonlight on the Sea, and a Fishing Adventure, . 
CHAPTER IV. 

Devotion and Music, 

CHAPTER V. 

The Village School and School- Master, . . . 

CHAPTER VI. 

Father Virgilius, 

CHAPTER VH. 

Alice Harmon’s Angelic Visitor and Vocation, 
CHAPTER VHI. 

Lovers of Temperance, 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Temperance Lecture, 


PAGE 

5 

8 

H 

20 

25 

29 

34 

40 


42 


11 


Contents, 


PAGE 

CHAPTER X. 

A Shipwreck, 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Wreckers and the Saved, .... 57 

CHAPTER XH. 

A Convert, 6i 

CHAPTER XHI. 

Description of Sea Scenery and Youghal, in the - 
South of Ireland, 67 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Drive to Mogeela, and a Comical Scene on the 
Journe)% 73 

CHAPTER XV. 

Passing Views of some Towns in the South of 
Ireland, " . . . . 77 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Visit to the Blarney-Stone, and Arrival of the 

Cholera, 81 

CHAPTER XVH. 

Horrors of the Cholera among the Harmons, . , 85 

CHAPTER XVIH. 

Death of Blind Mrs. Harmon, and Heroic Conduct 
of Father Virgilius, 91 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Cottage by the Sea, qO 


Contents, 


111 


CHAPTER XX. 

Visit to an Old Countiy Graveyard, ... gg 
CHAPTER XXI. 

Trip to Cloyne, and Glimpse of an Irish Patron, . 103 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Changes, log 


CHAPTER XXHI. 


Loretto Convent, 


112 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Voyage to New York, . .' . . . . 116 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Irish Brigade in Italy, 125 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Brother and Sister, ._ . . . . • 130 

CHAPTER XXVH. 

A Visit to Mount Mellary, . . * . . . 134 

CHAPTER XXVHI. 

Meeting a Friend, 142 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

An Ordination, 146 

CHAPTER XXX. 

A Sister of Charity, . 150 


IV 


Contents. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 
Meagher and the Irish Brigade, 

PAGE 

154 

CHAPTER XXXH. 

A Woman’s Bravery and Devotion, 

. . 159 

CHAPTER XXXHI. 
Father Marlow, 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A Loving but Sorrowful Meeting, . 

. . 172 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

A Brother’s Grave, 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A Martyr to Charity, .... 

179 

CHAPTER XXXVH. 

A Death-Bed Scene, .... 

. . 185 

CHAPTER XXXVHI. 
Conclusion, 

. . 188 


TfiE Mother and Her Dying Boy, 


195 


ALICE HARMON. 


CHAPTER 1. 

AN IRISH VILLAGE. 

HEN the voyager leaves Queenstown 
Harbor in the South of Ireland, and 
issues forth into the broad Atlantic 
on his trip to England, he perceives, 
for the greater part, a high and rocky coast 
guarding the south of the Green Island. As 
his vessel nears the shore, he catches occasional 
views of beautiful woody scenes, of meadows, 
gardens, and neat, shining little houses behind 
the cliffs, against which the breakers of the 
ocean dash and roar. 

One of those spots especially charming lay 
near the coast about midway between the 
two towns of Youghal and Queenstown. The 
name of the place was Ballycotton, and it had 
its lovely orchards, springs, and ponds, and 
trees, and gardens. 

It looked quite enchanting, so near the ocean, 
on a clear, bright day, with the pure, blue sky 
above it, and its pretty, whitewashed cottages 

5 




6 


Alice Harmo7i, 


appearing shining and joyous in the sunlight. 
It impressed every traveller with its character 
of rustic beauty the moment he beheld it. 
There were the goats on the rocks above the 
ocean ; the pigs mingling with the children who 
were sporting on the green ; the pure and smil- 
ing maiden coming from the spring with her 
can of water; the buxom old lass, with her 
arms akimbo, discussing the news with her 
neighbors ; the birds winging their flight from 
bush to bush, singing in the meanwhile ; the 
happy, laughing little boys and girls returning 
from school ; the fiddler in the orchard impel- 
ling to the dance by his cheerful airs ; and the 
young ones of both sexes near the clear and 
lively stream which ran through the grass, and 
tumbled over the stones as it wandered. The 
dogs barked, the roosters crowed, the waves 
made their accustomed noise not far away, and 
up from the bosom of that charming little spot 
sprang a spirit of peace, joy, simplicity, and 
harmony. Down a little from the village, and 
nearer to the beach, stood a neat, quiet cottage 
facing the sea, with a small but a beautiful 
garden. As you entered, you were gladdened 
with the scent of the sweetbrier, the tulip, 
and the wild rose. You saw artificial rocks 
piled up together, looking just as natural as if 
placed there by nature. You beheld one side 
of the garden lined by one continued rocky 


Alice Harmon. 


7 

wall slanting towards the flower-beds covered 
with lovely creepers, and all the time watered 
by rills that gushed from the brown stone 
down to nourish the shrubs and the plants 
and the bushes beneath them. 

As the sun gleamed over this rock, adorned 
with creepers and sparkling rills, the scene 
looked fairy-like, combined with the snow- 
white appearance of the sails of the boats on 
the waters. Nature lent to the garden almost 
all its delicious varieties, as the owners of the 
cottage were too poor to supply them. The 
cottage, too, presented the same attractive ap- 
pearance. It was only one story in height, and 
its walls were covered all over with creepers, 
whose roses, in this summer season, looked rich 
and fresh in the sunshine. The thatch upon 
the roof was still almost uninjured. In the 
windows you beheld pots of flowers and rustic 
cages containing birds who warbled strains 
without ending. There was the old-fashioned 
porch, the rustic chair outside, the woodbine 
coiling around the pillars at the doorway, 
and the wild sweetbrier shedding its odors in 
through the windows. The whole exterior of 
the cottage and garden was sweet and attrac- 
tive, luring the observer into the interior to 
gaze on its inmates. 


8 


Alice Hannon, 


CHAPTER II. 

THE HARMON FAMILY. 

D, indeed, the inspection of these 
characters did not disappoint the 
lovers and admirers of the cottage 
and the garden. The whole family 
consisted of a middle-aged man, a blind mo- 
ther, and a son and daughter. The father was 
gentle and meek and holy in his appearance. He 
was thin and pale, and, from his features, you 
would suppose inclined to melancholy. This 
partly mournful portion of the picture was re- 
lieved by the aspect of the daughter, who was 
young and fair, and heavenly joyous and sweet 
in the expression of her countenance. She 
was tall for fourteen ; her dark hair fell in pro- 
fusion on her finely-rounded shoulders; her 
eyes looked modest, and beamed with the light 
of divine inspiration. A natural smile, expres- 
sive of love and sweetness, always adorned her 
lips. Her dress was plain, but scrupulously 
clean. Her demeanor was exquisitely polite 
and unaffected. She was indeed the most 
striking object of the group, and her presence 
was made more holy contrasted with the wild, 
forbidding look of the brother beside her. He 
was about two years older, and his counte- 



Alice Harmon. 


9 


nance looked fierce and dark, though this ex- 
pression entirely belied the state of his feelings. 
A scar between the eye and the lip, received 
at one time accidentally, combined with his 
frowning brow, his lowering eyebrows, and his 
dark complexion, gave to his whole appearance 
a character- of forbidding sternness. Still, he 
had a good heart, an intelligent mind, andi a 
well-formed figure. His mother, who formed 
the last character in the group, was blind. 
Her figure was graceful, her features very 
pleasing, and her dress remarkably neat and 
appropriate. She sat near a table knitting, 
and singing songs of praise to her Saviour. 
She blessed and thanked him in the height of 
her blindness, and prayed aloud every day to 
see with her mind the light of his Spirit, his 
will, and his beauty. The eyes of the whole 
family were turned upon her with looks of love 
and contentment. Her happy, peaceful life, 
her resignation to the will of the Almighty, 
and her desire to please the hearts of all re- 
ligiously and sweetly made her character truly 
charming and lovely. The room in which they 
sat was neat and tidy. A great number of 
charming curiosities and old pictures hung 
from the walls. The odor of the flowers stole 
in through the windows. The breeze from the 
sea filled the room with freshness. The lovely 
white-sailed boats and the noble steamships on 


10 


Alice Harmon. 


the ocean lent a charming aspect to the watery 
view before them. A statue of an angel 
guardian adorned the room in which the 
family of the Harmons assembled. Roses, and 
candles, and silks, and gilt were gathered around 
it. But there were sweeter offerings than these 
to the spirit of the angel guardian. There 
were the incessant prayers and sighs of reve- 
rence and love from the heart of Alice Har- 
mon. She had a singular affection and devo- 
tion towards her angel guardian. His name 
was always on her lips, and she loved him for 
the sake of Jesus. She constantly spoke to 
her mother of his tenderness and solicitude to- 
wards them ; of his eager, watchful care over the 
ward whom God confided to his guardianship. 
She remarked how pure and glad and sweet 
she felt her soul when she often prayed to him. 
She told her family again and again that 
every good Christian had a separate angel 
guardian. “ Are they not all ministering spi- 
rits, sent to minister for these, who shall receive 
the inheritance of salvation?” (Hebrews i. 
14). She beheld, in fancy, some of them smil- 
ing joyously and approvingly by the side of 
those who did the will of God ; whilst she saw 
others drowned in tears at the follies, sins, 
and madness of their charges. She saw angel 
guardians everywhere. In the haunts of vice 
they were standing a little afar, viewing with 


Alice Hannon. 


1 1 

grief the fall of those who were once good and 
holy, but who, in a forgetful hour, had lost the 
grace of Jesus. She saw them in the vessels 
on the waters, in the taverns, in the streets, in 
the houses of the rich and the poor, and espe- 
cially by the bedside of the dying. She saw 
them every time lifting up their hands in fer- 
vent, pious acts of intercession towards the 
Almighty. 

She perceived all this ; and the fancied pic- 
ture of her own angel guardian gazing at her 
with looks of love, encouragement, and glad- 
ness filled her mind with light and her heart 
with emotions of peace and happiness. She 
would sit and think like this for hours toge- 
ther; then she would run to her statue, kneel 
before it, and beg the intercession of her 
angel guardian. After prayer, she would feel 
as if the light of that spot where the angels 
dwelt had crept into her heart. She would 
feel a more ardent love for Jesus and his holy 
name, for his Blessed Mother, and the saints 
and angels. Virtue would increase within her 
heart. She would dote upon her parents and 
her brother with a more holy fondness. She 
would love to swim for hours in a sea of sa- 
cred contemplation, and lead others also into 
that blessed exercise. She would go forth by 
turns into the garden and on the summit of 
the cliffs, and admire each time the beauty of 


12 


Alice Harmon. 


the sky, the flowers, the trees, the hills, the 
rocks, the ships, and the ocean. She would 
pray every day for the voyagers. She would 
bring forth her mother into the fresh, balmy 
air of the garden, and, after placing her on a 
rustic seat, with the sun creeping in through 
the leaves on her clothes and her features, 
she would describe to her the glory and power 
of God so wonderfully displayed in the crea- 
tion. 

Mrs. Harmon would listen, enraptured and 
thankful, to Alice’s descriptions. With up- 
lifted hands she would praise the great God 
for his goodness, and beg of him not to make 
her blind of soul, as she was of body. He had 
come to scatter fire upon the earth, and she 
sighed to be touched by it. She longed for 
that heavenly dew that would refresh and 
soften and sanctify her bosom. She would 
soon have it, please God, from the hands of 
the priest of the village of Shanagarry. Her 
spirit was full of the light of God. Indeed, it 
saw it clearly. It was blind to the sight of 
vice and death and hell, and open to the 
vision of virtue, grace, life, and glory. She 
heard the hum of the insects ; she smelt the 
perfume of the flowers ; she felt the exquisite 
touch of the sun on her features ; she listened 
to the mighty roar of the ocean’s waves 
against the cliffs beyond ; she caught the 


Alice Hannon. 


13 


songs of the robin and the linnet and the 
goldfinch ; she breathed the fresh, pure air 
of the garden ; and all these influences, act- 
ing upon her- active senses, made her feel 
happy and pleased with the will of her Jesus. 
Then she would knit and sleep a little, and 
murmur praise to God in the midst of her rest 
and her labors. 

The husband, William Harmon, who was 
once wild and passionate, was very tenderly 
attached to his female partner. Her blind- 
ness made her unfit for business ; still, the 
amount of sanctity and knowledge which she 
had abundantly supplied the absence of more 
worldly features. She frequently remarked 
that if she had not been blind, she would per- 
haps have thought of her Saviour less often. 
As her years advanced, her mind seemed to 
grow stronger in proportion as her bodily 
strength began to fail. The light that she 
borrowed from heavenly scenes and revealings, 
and the torrents of love that such knowledge 
and visions imparted to her bosom, seemed to 
make her whole existence sweet, welcome, and 
pleasing. Her chief delight consisted in hear- 
ing her daughter read and speak of Jesus, 
Mary, and the guardian angels. 


14 


Alice Harmon. 


CHAPTER III. 

MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA, AND A FISHING 
ADVENTURE. 

HE family of the Harmons was very 
thrifty, honest, and sober. Though 
poor, they all possessed an exquisite 
taste, and the father never forbade 
his amiable daughter to purchase some books 
in order to gratify her longing for reading. 
The parlor, whose front window opened on the 
sea, was sweetly though humbly furnished. 
A neat, sprightly carpet, scrupulously clean, 
adorned and covered the floor. Sacred pictures 
cheap but graceful, hung from the spotless 
walls. A table in the centre, of rustic form, but 
exquisitely pretty, lent an attractive feature to 
the whole apartment, in consequence of the 
number of neatly-bound books and shells and 
foreign ornaments that lay upon it. There was 
the neat, bright lounge on one side of the par- 
lor, and the chiffonniHe^ with its shining range 
of glasses and decanters, on the other. There 
were the plain though charming chairs, the 
fiddle hanging near one corner, the flute and 
the clock and the toys on the mantel, with the 
canary birds hopping and singing and picking 
in their cages near the window. And now, in 
the middle of June, the breeze came fresh and 



Alice Harmon. 


15 


full of the odor of sea-weed from the ocean in 
front of the parlor. The dogs barked, the 
roosters crowed, and the whole surrounding 
land and water scene quivered with joy be- 
neath the rays of the sunshine. There was 
the shout of the boatman on the shore beneath, 
the quivering shriek of the sea-gull, the roar of 
the surging waves, and a vast number of farm- 
ers a little beyond drawing home sand to make 
manure for their farms. 

Harmon was a fisherman, and, with the assis- 
tance of his son Patrick, he frequently succeed- 
ed in capturing large numbers of the tenants 
of the waters. They went forth usually in the 
evenings, fortified by the prayers of Alice to 
their guardian angels. They spent whole 
nights on the moonlit wave, drawing up fishes 
and singing soft, low songs of joy, and love, 
and praise, and honor to their Creator. They 
were fortunate always, especially when Alice 
attended them. One evening after our story 
opens, Patrick and his father set forth in their 
boat to fish all the moonlight. The tide was 
full at the time, and the place all around very 
lovely. At respective distances along the shore 
several fishermen were preparing to go out and 
try their good-fortune. The boat which Har- 
mon owned was built by himself, and was very 
handsome and tidy. They soon embarked, 
pulled out to sea, set sail, and readily passed a 


i6 


Alice Harmon. 


mile or two on the ocean. They then cast 
anchor, and began their occupation. The light 
of the moon was so full and clear at this time 
that they could nearly see the bottom of the 
ocean. The fishes rose and fell above and be- 
low the wave. The crests of the softly-rolling 
billows were tipped with the silvery beams of 
the moonlight. The watery expanse looked 
solemnly beautiful, and the dark cliffs beyond, 
with the village of Ballycotton, and the woods 
■quite near it, appeared sombre and bold to the 
eyes of those who beheld them. The Harmons 
looked behind them, and saw Ballycotton Isl- 
and standing out picturesquely and queenly 
in the still, bright ocean. 

It had a lofty light-house and belfry on its 
summit, and the brilliant lamps of varied hue 
that gleamed from the top fell softly and 
sweetly over the sea for a great distance 
around them. Suddenly they heard the swell- 
ing rich and cheering music of a brass band 
over the waters beyond them, adding, by its 
power and sweetness, to the enchantment of 
tnat moonlight scenery. Nearer and nearer 
the music came, making the air which it dis- 
coursed more clear and audible. The Har- 
mons paused in their fishing, and listened with 
rapt and thankful hearts to the sounds so rich 
and lovely over the moonlit waters. They 
glanced towards heaven, and thanked God 


Alice Harmon. 


17 

from their hearts, since he was the author of 
so much beauty and harmony. The very fishes 
beneath the Avave seemed moved by the mu- 
sic. They seemed to dance and jump more 
playfully, and revel with greater joy in the 
light of the night in the waters. The steam- 
boat which contained the band came close by 
the Harmons, who perceived that it was the 
Fairy, which daily plied in the summer-time 
between Youghal and Cappoquin, and was re- 
turning this evening to the first-named town 
after a pleasure-trip made beyond Ballycotton 
Island. It ploughed the waves with great 
rapidity, and seemed, indeed, a little fairy — it 
looked so bright and swanlike and swift, with 
its lights and its gaily-dressed crowds and its 
streamers. The music soon died away, and 
was lost to the ears of the Harmons in the 
deep silence that prevailed around them. 

They fished with great success for some hours, 
when they saw a large whale-boat approach 
them. They heard the sound of a lute coming 
from it towards them. They knew the air 
which it breathed, and the pathos and beauty 
and sweetness that distinguished its execution 
made them feel that it was their own Alice 
who played it. They knew that the person 
whose boat she was in was her uncle ; so they 
did not fear that she would be in danger. 
Whilst holding still his line and listening 


i8 


Alice Hannon. 


gladly to the mellow music, old Harmon felt 
his hook dragged with such force and rapidity 
that he was almost unable to sustain his equi- 
librium in the little boat. He pulled with all 
his power, aided by Patrick. A terrible noise 
beneath the waters and a fearful lashing above 
them assured the Harmons that a shark or 
some other monster of the deep was hooked. 
They cried to those in the advancing boat to 
hasten. They pulled the line more forcibly 
till their strength had almost failed, when a 
sudden mighty jerk of the monster drew both 
of them overboard. They screamed, but still 
kept hold of the line. They sought to return 
again to the boat, but were dragged further 
away from it. The monster rose to the surface, 
reddening the waves with his blood, and lash- 
ing them mightily. The boat, still at anchor, 
tossed from side to side. The Harmons were 
getting weaker, and would indeed have been 
lost had not Alice’s prayers to the angels, and 
the heroic conduct of her uncle’s son, who was 
in the whale-boat, saved them. Alice knelt and 
cried to heaven for her father’s and brother’s 
delivery from death and damnation. Mark 
O’Neil, her cousin, a noble, tall, and handsome 
youth, brought his boat quickly near the sink- 
ing Harmons, and heaved a rope towards them. 
Both caught it at the same time, leaying the 
old line go with the shark attached to it. 


Alice Harmon, 


19 

Mark pulled with all his power, whilst Alice 
prayed. The light that she caught from her 
orisons seemed to steal over the waters and drive 
the monster away from them. Old and young 
Harmon soon reached the side of the whale- 
boat almost insensible, still thanking God for 
his goodness .and kindness. Mark, with the 
aid of his father, assisted by their own efforts, 
soon raised the Harmons. Then there were 
thanks and joy and expressions of gratitude 
to God for their salvation. In the distance 
they saw the wounded monster plunging in 
the waves, reddening their white bosom with 
his blood, and ^swelling them with his foam. 
After recovering from the enervating effects of 
their la^-e adventure, the two Harmons soon 
revived under the invigorating influence of 
some sweet spiritual potations. They soon 
regained their original vigor and firmness ; 
they again took possession of their own little 
boat, and, after drawing in the anchor, re- 
solved to remove, with the occupants of the 
whaler, away from that quarter to some other 
spot. 


20 


Alice Harmon, 


CHAPTER IV. 

DEVOTION AND MUSIC. 

ICE did not fail to thank almost in- 
cessantly her angel guardian for de- 
livering her brother and father from 
the terrible danger and death that 
threatened them. This was evident from 
her increasing smiles, her looks, and expres- 
sions of thanksgiving and love. After a 
night’s successful fishing, they returned home, 
but did not inform Mrs. Harmon of the dan- 
gerous adventure. The morning shone fresh 
and rosy upon the slumbers of the wearied 
workers, and it lit up, v/ith its beauty and glo- 
ry, the ocean, crags, and rills, and meadows in 
front of the cottage. The roosters saluted its 
coming with joy. The dogs came forth and 
barked with satisfaction, the air stole on their 
senses with such freshness and sweetness. The 
horizon beyond was tinctured with a rosy 
glow, and, casting its image on the scene, pro- 
duced a most lovely picture. Alice soon arose, 
as the singing of the birds at the window 
awoke her. She came before the statue of her 
guardian angel, and prayed long and fervent- 
ly to Almighty God. She begged him io re- 
ceive as a poor offering all her thoughts, 



A/ice Harmon. 


21 


acts, desires, and words upon that day. She 
thanked him exceedingly for letting her see 
the light of the morning. She thought to 
herself how many went to bed full of health 
and life and joy, and did not awake 
the next morning, but were found cold 
and dead, whilst their souls, perhaps, were 
blazing in the prisons of the damned. She 
blessed Him who, in his kind providence, marks 
out the sparrow on the house-top and counts 
the hairs of the human head as they fall. She 
prayed for her family, for the Church, for 
the Sovereign Pontiff, for grace, for the con- 
version of all darkened souls, for grace to 
do the will of Jesus, for the love of her neigh- 
bor, and for the spirit of virtue and piety. 
She asked her guardian angel to shed his light 
around her; to give her strength during the 
day to bear all crosses bravely, to be meek and 
sweet with every one, to die a holy death, to 
have a horror and a pious fear for hell and a 
great desire for Paradise. When she had fin- 
ished, she felt greatly relieved indeed. She 
went to her mother s chamber, and offered to 
relieve her in dressing with the greatest joy. 
The blind woman gladly accepted the kind 
proposals of her dear daughter, and, with her 
hands clasped and eyes raised darkly, she 
gave thanks to Jesus. It was indeed a lovely 
picture to behold the good, faithful, loving 


22 


Alice Harmo7t, 


daughter, full of youth and virtue and beauty, 
looking out of the window at the swelling 
grandeur of rock and sky and ocean, and 
the dear, sweet, patient, blind mother lower- 
ing her darkened eyes, but raising her heart 
and her spirit to the glory and beauty of God 
at the same time. The one beheld a divine 
and human beauty ; the worldly was shut 
to the gaze of the other ; still she saw the hea- 
venly in such fulness and intensity that she 
was more than recompensed by her Saviour 
for the absence of her bodily eyesight. Mrs. 
Harmon, in her patience, was favored with 
sweet and holy revelations which few but the 
saints possess. She saw, as in a picture (and 
the sight ravished and nourished her soul), 
the spirits of the varied virtues realized. S.he 
saw their beauty, fresh and immortal; sa^y 
the bosom of God with the blood flowing out 
of it ; saw the hopes, and joys, and content- 
ment of the Christian transformed into ele- 
ments of splendor and loveliness such as earth 
never witnessed. She saw the Mother of God 
clad in glory, her crown and throne and eternal 
palaces. She saw the myriads of lovely homes 
that were fixed for the blessed, the golden 
chain of communication that existed between 
the saints and the undying ladder, upon which 
the good angels ascended and descended. She 
saw the good works of the blessed turned into 


Alice Harmon, 


23 


so many immortal gems and roses. She saw 
the vast multitudes of beings who loved God 
in the past now shining with him in his glory, 
now praising, blessing, and extolling his holy 
name. Fired by the glory of those visions, she 
did not heed the awful darkness that surround- 
ed her, but she sighed continually for those 
sunny lands where there is neither spiritual 
nor bodily blindness. 

She loved to go towards the shore, to sit on a 
mossy bank in the sunshine, to inhale the odor 
of the wild rose and the daisies, to listen to 
the hoarse roar of the waves, the music of 
the birds, and the humming of the bees and 
other insects. 

In every sweet sound, in every soft touch, 
exquisite taste, and delicious smell, she re- 
cognized divine love, and she thanked and 
praised her Saviour. 

Patrick would often go to his mother whilst 
sitting on the sunny bank and plunged in 
her dreamings. He would bring her bread, 
honey, sweet cream, and some strawberries. 
They would eat together, thanking God for 
the sweet and simple repast that he gave them. 
Then Alice would bring her lute, and the father 
his fiddle, after his sweet, sound sleep in the 
morning, and a solemn, low, and touching hymn 
to God would be feelingly sung by the blind 


24 


Alice Harmon. 


Mrs. Harmon, whilst the music softly and 
happily attended it. 

When the hymn ended, Alice fled for her 
dear o-ld harp, and sang a solo, whilst its music 
united with hers in thanks and praise to her 
guardian angel. Oh ! the beauty of that holy 
song. Oh! the melody of that voice which ut- 
tered it. Oh ! the sweet and strong effects 
which such music awakened in the hearts of 
the hearers. Her voice was delicate and soft, 
and had an effeminate tenderness, but it was 
full to the brim of the soul of feeling. The 
girl possessed an exquisitely emotional nature. 
The slightest sympathizing cause affected her. 
Her notions of purity, piety, goodness, and love 
were accurate and sublime ; and when human 
feeling blended with these, her spiritual enthu- 
siasm became irresistible. She seemed to 
pour into song all the eloquence of her nature, 
and she felt it. As she advanced, she melted 
into tears. The sight of her loving, blind 
mother ; of the rest of the family, whom she re- 
garded so tenderly; of the beautiful scenery 
before her; the memory of God’s goodness, 
and the love and untiring attention of her 
angel guardian, all combined to awaken in her 
soul emotions of thanksgiving and tenderness, 
and gave to her spirit at that time that sacred 
fire which imparted to her voice such sweetness 
and feeling. 


Alice Harinofi. 


25 


There was young Alice, bathed in tears rosy 
and healthy and charming, with her large blue, 
shining eyes, her elevated brow, with her cheeks 
expanded by the power of her song, with no 
thought in her mind or feeling in her heart 
but such as was pure and holy. She sat upon 
the grassy knoll like the humanized genius of 
devotion and music ; and the emotions into 
which she plunged her listeners were no less 
affecting than the cause that produced them. 

The blind mother, unable to control her feel- 
ings of gratitude and joy, rushed with a cry of 
delight and love into the arms of her daughter. 
She uttered words of praise to God for his 
kindness ; and as her enthusiasm increased, the 
tears fell from her eyes in greater abundance. 
Old Harmon and Patrick also were greatly 
affected. After a little while, they retired to 
the cottage, and each to his and her separate 
duty. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL AND SCHOOL-MASTER. 

NE and July passed away by this 
time, and the end of August came. 
Then the little school at* Ballycot- 
ton opened, and the children of the 
village once more gathered within its walls. 



26 


Alice Hannon. 


The building stood on a little hill in the midst 
of a clump of trees, and its front looked forth 
on the bright blue ocean. The spring was 
near it, and some lovely hedgerows ' and the 
school-boys’ green. The morning upon which 
the school opened was fresh and clear. The 
smoke from the houses beneath curled up in 
the air, the sky was a lovely blue, the waves 
of the sea rolled softly in the sunlight, the 
meadows and orchards and glens looked rich 
and green, and the entire village of Ballycot- 
ton seemed to be full of joy, as the boys and 
girls returned to school again to be watched 
and purified, and fed with knowledge. About 
nine o’clock on that memorable morning a 
form might have been seen advancing up the 
little road to the top of the little hill that shot 
away from the main street of Ballycotton. It 
was that of a man of about fifty summers. 
He looked scrupulously neat. His air and 
dress and carriage bespoke acquired refinement. 
His spruce black coat, in clerical style, shone in 
the light of the morning. His features looked 
funny and benevolent. Smiles played nearly 
all the time upon his lips. His face was close- 
ly shaven, his head was long and thin, his eyes 
small and full of vivacity, his brow high, his 
nose a beautiful aquiline, his cheeks partly fur- 
rowed, his lips, as already remarked, mostly 
covered with smiles, and, when not so, expres- 


Alice Harmoji 


27 


sive of melancholy. He bore some books un- 
der his left arm, and held a nicely-polished cane 
in his right hand. He favored all with his 
smiles as he passed along, and the boys and 
girls regarded him in the light of an especial 
favorite. After reaching the top of the hill, he 
was received with three cheers by the children 
who were waiting there. When all the rest 
had arrived, he drew them up in the school- 
house green, and reviewed them. He viewed 
with pleasure their clean faces, their tidy 
clothes, their well-kept books, and their looks 
of love and gladness. He gently censured 
the defects and commended the good quali- 
ties of his children. Then he spoke to them 
feelingly and simply of the love which they 
should have for school, for God, for prayer, 
for their parents, for their neighbor, for order 
and temperance. He rerfiarked that, with 
God’s help, they would all be an honor yet 
to Ballycotton, and he expressed a hope 
that some from amongst them would go forth 
in time to the colleges, and be priests. He con- 
gratulated them on their absence in the good 
village from many sinful, dangerous occasions, 
and from the polluting dens of cities, where so 
much riot, and ignorance, and sin, and sadness 
dwell. He exhorted them to be diligent at 
home and at school ; to be punctual in their 
hours at all the exercises ; to love each other ; 


28 


Alice Harmon, 


to call no names ; to bless instead of to curse ; 
to take some healthy, active recreation in the 
afternoon till the darkness came, when they 
should retire to the light of their homes to 
study their lessons, to read some holy books, 
to the society of their families ; to retire early at 
night to their rest ; to sleep soundly and sweet- 
ly after thanking, blessing God ; to rise early 
in the mornings, praising Jesus ; to have their 
faces washed very clean, their breakfasts eaten, 
and then walk in a nice, quiet, modest man- 
ner to the school. He assured them of his 
love, his desire to advance them, and his inten- 
tion to punish them in proportion as each de- 
served it. He begged of God to bless them 
and to open their minds and hearts to his 
divine light and love, now that the school was 
open. The earnestness with which he ad- 
dressed them was evident from his tears. He 
would give his home, his wife, his life, his all, 
to make them learned and happy, if such were 
needed, so dearly did he love them. Alice 
Harmon was there, his best-conducted and 
most talented pupil. He esteemed her to ex- 
cess, and all the scholars shared with him in 
that same feeling. This did not make Alice 
proud, but it caused her to feel more humble 
and thankful. 


Alice Harmon. 


29 


CHAPTER VI. 

FATHER VIRGILIUS. 

HE children had not been long dis- 
posed in the school-room before Mr. 
O’Flanagan, the teacher, sent one 
of his boys to Shanagarry, where 
Father Virgilius, the priest of that village, re- 
sided, with a message informing him that the 
scholars were in order now, and that they 
would all wish to be seen by him. 

The house in which Father Virgilius resided 
was neat and unpretending. It had its little 
garden and other sweet conveniences. It 
looked in front upon the ocean, and on Bally- 
cotton with its island. The little church which 
he attended was not far away. It was plain 
but neat, and sufficiently large for its congre- 
gation. It was old, but its antiquity gave a 
more attractive interest to the charms around 
it. It was the pride and ornament of the vil- 
lage, and its neat little cross spoke feelingly to 
the people of the love of Jesus and the bitter 
agony that he endured for them by his cruci- 
fixion. 

leather Virgilius was in when the message 
came, and in one hour answered it personally 
by presenting himself at the door of the 
scliool-hoLise. The moment the children per- 




30 


Alice Harmon, 


ceived him, they stood up respectfully, bade 
him good-morning and welcome, and clapped 
their hands with joy. He responded cordially, 
and the light of his smile and his eye, and his 
manner in general, was an evident assurance 
of his affection towards them. He was above 
the middle height, and stout and manly-look- 
ing in proportion. His face looked handsome 
and amiable. He had dark hair, blue eyes, 
and a florid complexion. Sanctity beamed in 
his smile, which was at once natural and ten- 
der. His voice was strong and sweet, his sense 
of vision keen, and his carriage very graceful. 
As his form occurs to the memory of the 
writer, he thinks he sees his exact image re- 
vealed in the person of a clergyman who is his 
blood relation, and now resides on this side of 
the Atlantic. Father Virgilius never went 
outside his house without carrying with him 
his beloved walking-stick. It was large and 
handsome, and so sanctified by tlie anointed 
palms of the reverend gentleinan that, like St. 
Patrick’s staff, it must have been an expeller of 
snakes. It was known to every child in the dis- 
trict by the name of St. Coleman, and the very 
mention of it always filled them with a pious 
fear. Father Virgilius walked amongst the boys 
and girls, and spoke to them sweetly and ten- 
derly. He welcomed them back again to the 
halls of wisdom and learning. He gave them 


Alice Haruion. 


31 


sage counsels, commended their teacher, and ex- 
pressed a hope that some amongst the boys 
would yet enter the sanctuary. As he spoke 
and looked and acted, even the children saw 
in his air the signs of his calling. His attach- 
ment to the great mysterious things of God 
made himself a kind of amiable mystery. 
Gifted with a large and vigorous mind, with a 
taste and heart Capable of appreciating from 
infancy all that was sweet and worthy to be 
loved, he had these qualities largely developed 
by residing in the country. He was a priest, 
and that expressed a great deal. He had 
the power to bring God on the altar, to 
make his precious blood stream thereupon, 
to give him to other souls, to carry him next 
his heart, and to deny him to whomsoever he 
pleased. He had the power to save or damn 
the souls of Christians, to bless or curse, to 
wound or heal, to sanctify or profane. He 
used his mighty faculties well for God’s sake, 
for his neighbors’ and his own salvation. The 
retirement of the country afforded him more 
time to think upon his vast prerogatives ; to 
revel over them ; to frame his mind and heart 
according to them ; and by their exercise to 
sanctify and save. All this gave to the face 
and manners of Father Virgilius an especial 
religious attraction. He was the man of God 
in the eyes of the children, men’s spiritual 


32 


Alice Har7non. 


father, the lamp that led to Jesus, the salt 
of the earth, the city on the mountain-top. 
He was to them humorous and fatherly, pious 
and sweet and good. He was devoted to 
virtue and truth and sanctity. The chastity 
of his life shone in the pure expression of his 
features. Calmness, grace, happiness, sanctity, 
and love were happily blended in his counte- 
nance, and these expressions were beautifully 
realized in his beautiful life. His love for the 
sick and poor was wonderful ; his desire to 
please them singular ; his attachment to the 
strange and innocent customs of his people re- 
markably strong ; and his devotion to his 
country sincere and ardent. Everything in 
his person spoke of the sanctuary and the altar. 
He was the man who stood constantly by the 
sick-bed, imparting cheer and grace and con- 
solation, dispelling the cloud of despair from 
the face of the dying, and causing the sunshine 
of hope to gleam there. He loved the young 
and old, and was a partner in all their innocent 
mirth and sympathies. He patronized the 
athletic sports amongst the youthful, and 
almost every evening was found in the farmers’ 
houses, examining, blessing, and teaching the 
children. He loved to talk and walk, to smile 
on the good, admonish the bad, and explain 
the Scriptures. His faults were few, and these 
were so buried in a sea of goodness that their 


Alice Harmon, 


33 


existence was forgotten or unknown. He con- 
sumed most of his hours in holy reading. His 
love for the fathers, the Holy Scriptures, and 
works of the saints was unbounded. He had a 
charming voice, and its power was often felt 
by many an earnest listener. He cultivated 
writing to a large extent, but his productions 
were rarely seen by any one. He wrote for 
God’s honor and glory — not for a miserable 
worldly fame. His thoughts, as he wrote, 
rose with the character of his humility, and his 
highest aims consisted in aspiring to a know- 
ledge and love of God. Such was Father 
Virgilius ; and his character went beyond his 
vicinity, winning for him everywhere respect 
arid love. On this occasion he cheered the 
boys, blessed them, and spoke to them of 
heaven and God. He gave them little pre- 
sents, assured them of his love, and went away 
expressing a hope that they would never fail 
to be good and pious and punctual. 


34 


Alice Harmon. 


CHAPTER VII. 

ALICE HARMON’S ANGELIC VISITOR AND VO- 
CATION. 

ATHER VIRGILIUS was a great 
friend of the Harmons. He used 
often to visit and talk to the blind 
mother ; and as he spoke to her, his 
feelings of religion and love warmed to such a 
degree that he could scarcely help giving vent 
to pious raptures. He saw spirituality, in all its 
true light and beauty, coming from that blind 
woman’s heart. He beheld unselfishness, sanc- 
tity, contentment, and pure joy personified in 
her character ; and every time he left after 
speaking to her he felt himself more holy. He 
esteemed Alice very highly for her modesty, 
piety, and intellectual gifts. He heard with 
pleasure of her desire to remain for ever a 
spotless virgin in the sight of God. She re- 
solved to consecrate her soul and body, time 
without end, to the spirit of Jesus. Her mo- 
tives were godly and sublime. Her resolution 
was heroic and self-sacrificing. She did not 
fear the dangers, because she trusted in her 
God. She hailed with joy the thought of the 
hour that would behold her made a sworn 
virgin. She longed for the day to come that 
would find her in Loretto Convent at P'ermoy 



Alice Harmon, 


35 


taking the veil, and closing her eyes for ever 
to the darkness, vanity, and sorrows of this 
foul world. It beamed like a lovely star on 
the eyes of her spirit and heart. Her family 
encouraged her holy notions. Father Virgilius 
fed them by his constant allusions to the beau- 
ty and sanctity of a virgin life. He proved 
the excellence of that state over any other 
from the words of sacred Scripture so forcibly 
uttered by St. Paul. 

As day after day passed on, she seemed to 
see more clearly the beauty of that inner light 
which fills the holy virgins of Almighty God. 
She seemed to acquire more fully that dove- 
like spirit of peace which fills them, that love 
of virtue and God. She felt that nothing ex- 
isted in this life so precious as sweet virginity. 
She saw it shine conspicuously in Holy Mary 
eternally, and most resplendently in the Son 
of God. She knew it was a God-like attribute, 
and she felt that no amount of self-denial 
would be too great to gain it. She prayed day 
and night to her angel guardian to acquire it. 
She besought him with tears in the dark night 
that he would fly to the throne of God, and 
bring from the light of its King a little of its 
sunshine. And, indeed, the angel guardian 
seemed to hear and answer her earnest prayer ; 
for in the height of one dark night in the end 
of September, a bright light burst upon her 


Alice Hannon, 


36 

soul, and she seemed to see coming over the 
depths of the still ocean before her, through 
the window upon which she rested, a glorified 
form holding in both hands roses and crowns 
of gold. The family had gone to rest a little 
before, but she stayed up for some time, avail- 
ing herself of the deep stillness of tbe night 
and the beautiful moonlight on the sea to think 
on her virgin-vow. Her heart and mind were 
flooded with surprise and joy at seeing this 
strange and heavenly form. Virginity was 
written in characters of gold on its shining 
brow, and out of it came the brightest colors 
and the sweetest odors. It came nearer to 
Alice, and partly revealed a face that power- 
fully expressed a character at once intelligent, 
holy, amiable, noble, and sublime. There were 
lips whose pure streams seemed to be drawn 
from the river of life. On them a smile so 
godly shone that Alice fancied she was wrap- 
ped up at once into a sea of wondrous beauty 
and glory. The hair of the figure fell like 
threads of gold, which the sea-breezes were 
weaving. He was beautifully formed, tall and 
thin and fair, with symmetry entirely ethereal. 
He spoke to Alice, and, when he did, his voice, 
though low, had a softness and a sweetness 
and a refined power in it which caused it to 
steal along the sea, and move the very fishes 
in the waters by its melody. “ Maiden of 


Alice Harmon. 


37 


earth,” said the voice, “ I am a messenger from 
on high, and come to let you know that your 
pure, pious wishes are received with joy in the 
eternal palaces and thrones. I come to let you 
know that your sublime self-sacrifice will win 
for you gifts far richer than these roses and 
crowns that I bear in my hands. In the dark- 
ness of the night, when you will think of God 
and me, your angel guardian, I will place this 
crown upon your brow, and it will shine more 
pure and fair than the sunlight. The virgins 
in paradise will sing new song? of love and 
praise and joy to God when you will give 
your heart entire to Jesus. The Mother of 
virgins will always guard and bless and save 
you. The bright thoughts of God will come 
into your mind. His love will burn unquench- 
ably in your bosom. His sacred name will 
hang upon your lips. His graces, blessings, 
and gifts will steal into your spirit ; everything 
that is beautiful and good in the physical and 
moral and intellectual world around you will 
reveal to your senses and mind and heart new 
scenes and creations of splendor and joy. 
Then your life will be peaceful and sweet in 
the bosom of chastity. You will have me 
near you, ever guarding, warning, and saving 
you. You will teach others to love purity by 
your lovely life, and will fly, when death comes 
on you, into the spirit and heart of your Lord, 


Alice Harmon. 


38 

to bless and enjoy him for ever.” Saying these 
words, the angel guardian breathed on his pure 
and lovely ward a breath more odorous far 
than all the sweets and spices of the Indies. 
Soft, holy music filled the air as he was leav- 
ing, soothing and delighting by its sound the 
soul of Alice. The words of the angel filled 
her with hope and joy. She sighed for another 
view of him, and, half waking, drew back from 
the moonlight scene to bury her face in her 
hands and reflect upon what she saw. As she 
thought, her ideas increased, and her soul soar- 
ed to the contemplation of those seraphic vir- 
gins who follow the Lamb in heaven wherever 
he goeth, and who sing that new song which 
none else can sing. She saw them grouped in 
lovely order, beheld them moving in grand 
procession over the fields of light, clad in white 
robes brighter than the sun, pure as angels 
fair, as immortal kings and queens, carrying 
wands and crowns of gold, attended by ethe- 
real music and the songs and praises of the 
blest, clinging to the heart of God, feeding on 
the glory of his wounds, causing virgins, by 
their prayers, to spring up in human soil, and 
bathing for ever in a sea of joy and love and 
beauty. The vision so ravished her senses and 
her heart, and so strained upon her mind, that 
she grew dizzy beneath its effect, and swooned 
away with nervous joy. Alice slept that night 


A//cc Ilarnwn. 


39 


with sweet and holy beings around licr pillow, 
and in her mind delightful dreams. She resolv- 
ed from henceforth to make a study of her 
heart, and enlarge her mind by extensive, care- 
ful reading of the Word of God. She did not 
tell the vision of the night to the family, but 
they saw from her appearance that something 
strange must have occurred. She was more 
serious and spoke less than before. She re- 
mained more alone. 

As the month was now advancing into winter, 
the aspect of the landscape changed. Alice 
welcomed it, as it came from the hands of God. 
The sea grew more angry, the leaves of the 
trees and the flowers began to disappear, the 
cliffs near the sea seemed rougher and darker, 
the cornfields were gone, and the clouds pre- 
sented almost all the time a gloomy appearance. 
Alice walked almost every day at this sea- 
son alone on the beach and the top of the 
rocks, speaking to God in silence, and praising 
the grand sea, which was one of his glorious 
works. As she walked and gazed, she felt she 
would soon go away from the scenes of her 
childhood and that dear sea which she had 
always loved. Down there between these two 
rocks jutting out upon the waves she often 
sat alone, reading the Lily of Israel,” “The 
Glories of Mary,” and other sweet, holy books. 
There some of the most profitable, innocent. 


40 


Alice Harmon, 


and delightful hours of her life vrere passed, 
and the thought of leaving it now weighed 
deeply on her heart. Stilly the knowledge of 
her going to a place eminently more holy and 
dear to God made her feel happy and easy. 
She returned home one day^ after walking and 
thinking in that manner, and sought to make 
preparations, assisted by her mother, before 
she would depart for Loretto Convent. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

LOVERS OF TEMPERANCE. 

HERE were many lovers of tempe- 
rance in Ballycotton and the 
country around it. Fine, fat old 
farmers often boasted that their 
long lives, ruddy cheeks, hearty families, and 
well-stocked larders were due to Father Ma- 
thew’s blessed temperance movement. They 
declared themselves proud of their fidelity 
to such a splendid cause, and did their best 
to encourage its exercise amongst their neigh- 
bors. It was a pleasant sight to see some of 
them calling at their friends’ houses, where 
they found lovers of the same cause, and chat- 
ted with cheerfulness, as they sat around the 
fireside smoking their dtideens. How deeply 



Alice Harmon. 


41 


they bemoaned the folly of those who dis- 
graced themselves on the blessed Sunday 
evenings, at the public-houses and the fairs 
and races, by getting drunk ! How wisely 
they described the evils that arise from the 
vice of intemperance, and how knowingly they 
expressed the benefits and joys that spring 
from the exercise of the virtue opposed to it. 

They abhorred the sight of a shebeen-house 
or a gins-hop. They warned their friends 
against the trap of the devil that lay in such 
places. They were fond of meeting confiden- 
tially together, on the roads, in the chapel- 
green, near the school-house, and in all public 
places. The bagpipes and fiddles that played 
in the tents at the fairs could not allure 
them into such scenes of danger. They always 
transacted their business soberly and wisely; 
and though they were frequently pronounced 
by the lovers of the drop as worthless and life- 
less, still they never ceased to glorify, both 
publicly and privately, the excellence of tem- 
perance. Their regard for this great virtue in- 
spired them with charity towards their neigh- 
bor and a love for the church and its sacra- 
ments. They were especially drawn, like our 
Saviour, to the hearts of the children, and many 
a spare sixpence and shilling were placed by 
their hands in the pockets of the youngsters. 
They loved their good priest. Father Virgilius, 


42 Alice Hannon, 

and were always the first to assist him. They 
were delighted with his promise to do his best 
to make others who were wild lovers of tem- 
perance, and he informed them of his intention 
to preach on a future Sunday about that vir- 
tue. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A TEMPERANCE LECTURE. 

RUMOR went around the village 
of Shanagery, a few days before 
the following Sunday, that Father 
Virgilius intended to speak that 
day on the virtue of temperance. How the 
ears of the old lovers of the cause tingled with 
delight when this important piece of news 
was conveyed to them ! They sent word to 
their friends from afar, who appreciated their 
thoughts, to be present and rejoice over the 
feast that awaited them. They all came, and 
the little church of Shanagery could scarcely 
find room for its large congregation on that 
Sunday. The lovers of temperance gathered 
together in knots on the green of the church- 
yard. They looked spruce and bright, dressed 
in their Sunday clothes, and laughed and talk- 
ed most cordially and delightedly over their fa- 
vorite theme. At last the bell tolled for Mass 



Alice Harmon. 


43 


and all entered the church. After the gospel, 
the Rev. Father Virgilius advanced towards 
the edge of the altar, and delivered the fol- 
lowing remarks. He took his text from the 
First Epistle of St. Peter ; “ Brethren, be sober 
and watch, for your adversary the devil goes 
around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he 
may devour.” As the apostle of God request- 
ed his people to be sober, my brethren, so I 
say to you. Love temperance. Virtue is the 
staff and bread and hope of life. Without it 
the spirit and body would rot, and there would 
be no true joy. But amongst all the virtues, 
none are more needed than temperance, be- 
cause its opposite vice makes man incapable 
of seizing and retaining excellence of any kind. 

The friends of Father Mathew, those vete- 
ran lovers of the cause, have felt the truth of 
this, and desire that others should be equally 
moved. Why have they clung so closely to 
this virtue ? The answer is easy, dear friends ; 
it is because they value the beautiful nature of 
the virtue of temperance, as well as its grand 
effects. They contrast its character and results 
with those of the opposite vice, and draw 
wholesome, saving conclusions from the com- 
parison. In temperance they discover a virtue 
most pure and godly. It derives its existence 
from heaven itself, and is accounted great by 
every licit law. 


44 


Alice Harmon. 


Temperance is a sanctifier and a savior. 
It shines over the moral world like the sun in 
the heavens. It is united with wisdom and 
intelligence, if its possessors make the best 
use of it. It is fair and sweet, and especially 
lives in the spirits of the just and the holy. 
It is a moral virtue, that makes man moderate 
in the indulgence of his senses, and, in Father 
Mathew’s case, abstain from the use of all 
liquor that intoxicates. Temperance is the 
companion of health, and love, and strength, 
and peace. It is a virtue that God loves 
dearly, that the angels highly esteem, and 
that the devils hate. It is warmly appreciated 
by all wise men. It is sacred to sanctity and 
truth. It is the lovely star that lights up the 
fields of the heart. It is the inspirer of hope, 
the promoter of joy, and the peace of the bless- 
ed. It is like the river that flows by the tree 
of life, fructifying the soul. It loves to linger 
around happy homes and sweet hearts, the 
parent and friend of good. It is the child of 
heaven, the light of the church, the enemy 
of hell, and the stay of the poor. In it are all 
riches of grace, and health, and glory, and joy 
to the pure Catholic heart. It is a virtue that 
the prophets, apostles, and true men of God 
at all times loved. It is a never-fading youth. 
It is a flower that never dies in well-tilled 
hearts. It is a dew that always refreshes, a 


Alice Harmon. 


45 

lamp that ever enlightens, and a friend that 
always cheers. It is a beautiful shape, full of 
light and power. It is healthy and rosy, and 
has not a tear in its eyes, but is all smiles, and 
sheds peace and goodness on whatever it 
gazes. Those who do not come near it, but 
who shudder at its form and run away from it, 
are dark and giddy and full of danger. 
Those who do so, and embrace the figure 
that is the very opposite of it, are the 
intemperate. And they worship a god at 
once forbidding and loathsome. Death, and 
starvation, and misery, and hell sit on his face. 
Anger, and pride, and self-love, and impurity 
are stamped on his features. He is the enemy 
of heaven and reason, and the friend of hell. 
He roves among the dissolute, the abandoned, 
and despairing. He goes amongst the wretch- 
es who fill the foul dens of the big towns, 
and never wanders forth unless attended by a 
host of demons. His name*is Intemperance, 
and he looks bloated and hideous. He raves 
against religion, country, and God. The air 
in which he lives is poisonous. The ground 
on which he treads is cursed. The hearts into 
which he creeps rot and die, and the homes 
into which he goes become desolate, and sad, 
and poor, and lonely. He gets enraged at the 
approach of the bright spirit of temperance. 
He is incapable of love. His presence is like 


Alice Harmon. 


46 

that of a dark cloud eternally threatening ruin. 
His name has horror in it. His friends are 
enemies to the lovers of goodness and of 
truth. In a word, my friends, he is a devil in- 
carnate. Then, after comparing the two forms, 
one so good in its nature, and the other so evil, 
need we wait to decide upon which we ought 
to cherish and embrace? Surely, no; most 
of us have done what reason, nature, and God 
have directed us. Most of us have abandoned 
intemperance, and selected temperance. Many 
amongst us meet together in one to support a 
holy and a sublime cause, and, with God’s as- 
sistance, shall succeed in doing so. Let us all 
admire and love the beautiful nature of tem- 
perance. Let us do our best to make others 
feel so also, and let all know that it is the 
cause of charity, of truth, of civil, social, and 
religious progress. But its nature, so excel- 
lent and beautiful, will give us an admirable 
notion of its effects. Temperance makes man 
live in an eternal sunshine. It makes him 
bathe in a sea of sweetness and love ; it makes 
him spare his money, or spend it well and 
wisely. It makes him a noble and respectable 
citizen ; gives health and strength to his body, 
and freshness and vigor to his mind. It 
sharpens the force of his senses, brings the 
grace of God into his soul, and frees him from 
a thousand dangers and temptations. It makes 


Alice Harmon. 


47 

his name honored, respected, and loved, keeps 
away the sheriff from his premises, gladdens 
the hearts of his family, wins the confidence 
and esteem of men, and every day renders 
himself fit to transact his business. It gives 
him consolation, a spirit of recollection, peace, 
and joy. It tears him away from bad com- 
pany with its prevailing vices, makes him 
value time, and gives him a love for the crea- 
tures of the Almighty. It gives him sound 
rest at night and a long life. It makes him 
bless God and his family, gives him a taste for 
pure pleasures, a love for home, for virtue, and 
his Saviour. The temperate farmers, profes- 
sional men, shop-keepers, traders, and laborers 
do their work with cheerfulness and ease, and 
see the money coming in to them in abundance. 
It makes the poor man rich ; the ill-clad, well- 
dressed ; the irreligious, holy ; the miserable, 
happy ; the sad, joyous ; the sickly, healthy ; 
the roguish, honest ; and the degraded; honored. 
It makes the thought of heaven and eternity 
very dear to the Christian heart. It awakens 
satisfaction, life, and joy in others’ bosoms. It 
builds up a family and a people. It encourages 
patriotism and every other noble feeling. It 
gives staunch soldiers and statesmen to a coun- 
try. It dispels despair, and makes ever a hard 
and bitter life seem soft and sweet. Then its 
blesrjcd effects seem greater when compared 


48 


Alice Harmon. 


with the horrid evils of intemperance. Who is 
that clad in rags, and staggering, from side to 
side, as he strives to walk through the street, 
uttering, as he wanders, oaths and blasphemies ? 
See a child and a woman a little behind, follow- 
ing him with looks of anguish and wringing 
hands. Ah ! the neighbors who see the scene 
answer our question when they say, with fingers 
pointed towards him. There goes the drunkard. 
Horrible name ! — one that brings with its sound 
numbers of terrible images. He does not 
practise temperance, but clings to the opposite 
vice ; and as the people gaze upon him, they 
see in his face the frightful effects of intoxi- 
cating liquors. Intemperance has made his 
cheeks look pale and bony and haggard, his 
eyes sunken and lustreless, his hair ragged and 
neglected, his clothes torn. and soiled, his voice 
tremulous and broken, his mind weak, his body 
lapsided, and his whole constitution sickly and 
miserable. It has exposed him to the re- 
proaches and contempt of the crowd. It 
has made him an object of mockery to 
the children. It has brought him down to a 
level with the brutes, who have no reason. It 
has robbed him of credit, of money, of friends, 
and of a happy home. The poison has worked 
in his system, and given to his eyes and face 
that glare and expression of terrible insanity. 
It has sent him to his mean abode, a football 


Alice Harmon. 


49 


for the devils to play with. It has exposed to 
his view misery and nakedness and raving 
hunger there. It has given him fresh love for 
the poisonous draughts after surveying all this 
wretchedness, and plunged him into despair. 
Blaspheming, raving, despised, abhorred, rag- 
ged, and ruined in senses, fortune, name, body, 
and mind, he puts a woful end to his existence. 
He brings upon his soul the curses of his 
friends and family. His memory is always re- 
membered by them with horror, and his name 
becomes a disgrace and a terrible warning. 
His children become the inheritors of his 
misfortunes and his crimes, unless saved 
and blessed by Providence. His wealth is 
swallowed up, his grave is trodden over insult- 
ingly, and his body rots. That body, once 
pampered so indulgently with intoxicating 
draughts, now lies in the deep tomb, inanimate 
and corrupt, whilst the soul is buried in hell. 
There is none to mourn over it. There are 
many to curse it, and send up complaints to 
heaven on the horrible evils of intemperance. 
Almost all of you, thank Gwd ! my dear friends, 
can compliment yourselves on the joy and 
health and success you feel as the advocates 
of temperance. Death, and sin, and horror, 
and hell, and pain will not come so near you 
as- they do the mad victims of brandy, whiskey, 
porter, wine, and rum. Some amongst you 


50 


Alice Harmon, 


have been foolish in the past, and they ex- 
perience now more than others the happy 
feelings that temperance awakens by the force 
of the contrast. Now their names are loved, 
their health is good, their children well clad, 
bright, and happy, their wives delighted, their 
business well attended to, and their minds and 
hearts and bodies full of clearness, strength, 
and joy. All you who are temperate thank 
God for enjoying those sweet and blessed emo- 
tions. You will continue to possess them, with 
his divine assistance, till you die. You will 
not break your sacred pledges. You will keep 
them to the end, if you trust not to yourselves, 
but to your Saviour. He is strong and full 
of love, and he will keep you from danger. 
He will not let you fall. Do what he wishes 
you should do, and you will be always tempe- 
rate. Fly from the grog-shops, the gin-shops, 
and the public-houses in general. When you 
see one, make the sign of the cross upon your- 
selves, and remember that the devil is there 
hiding between the bottles. When false 
friends come to remind you of their love and 
long acquaintance, fly from them, and do not 
respond to their dangerous invitations. Work 
actively during the day, enjoying with that 
money which you would spend on intoxicat- 
ing liquor good meat and wholesome, tempe- 
rate drinks. Entertain yourselves with your 


Alice Harmon. 


51 

families in the evening after your day’s work, 
and then you will shun the occasion. Go 
often to the holy sacraments, where you will 
find strength, and grace, and hope, and joy. 
Never forget to frequent Mass on Sundays, 
because the culpable neglect of that spiritual 
exercise, apart from being a mortal sin, is a 
great inducement to intemperance. If you 
once tipple, you will likely fall, and be not only 
temporally but eternally lost. Then adhere 
to the holy, the saving cause till you die. 
Bring others into it. Let your example be a 
silent sermon in its praise. Then you will 
never want for anything. God’s blessing will 
be on you. It will help to reform and sanc- 
tify the nation more and more. It will make 
beautiful characters of the growing ones, and 
make every one respect every charitable Ca- 
tholic and patriotic cause. The law is clear 
and simple. Let none depart from it. We 
do not threaten or compel men to embrace it. 
We sweetly try to win and to persuade. Even 
so Jesus acted with matchless power upon 
the coldest, roughest hearts. That he may at 
all times be our guide and guardian and sweet 
Saviour is the prayer that we should never fail 
to make, not only when we meet, but when 
alone and pursuing our daily occupations. 
Then will come new life, and strength, and 


Alice Harmon* 


52 

hope, and joy, and a passionate love for God 
and for temperance. 

The old lovers of temperance, as well as 
the whole congregation, felt their souls thrill 
with thanksgiving and joy when the ser- 
mon was ended. They betook themselves to 
their separate homes after Mass, invoking 
the blessings of heaven on the head of Father 
Virgilius. 

CHAPTER X. 

A SHIPWRECK. 

OME weeks rolled over the Harmon 
family, when December came, with 
its wild, cold days and nights, and 
its dreary, monotonous landscapes. 
Still, the darkness and the storms of that 
month gave a character of savage gran- 
deur to the cliffs and the sea. The waves 
tossed and rolled immensely. They came 
nearer and nearer in upon the land, 
washing the adjacent fields with their foam. 
Young Patrick Harmon had a strange love 
for roaming over the top of the cliffs at this 
season. When the waves rose higher, and the 
sky grew darker, and the storm raved more 
fiercely, his spirit seemed to enjoy it all the 
better. Wrapt in an oil-coat, with a hat of 



Alice Harmon. 


53 

the same material, he strolled along in the 
height of the gloom and the tempest, 
listening to the shriek of the wild sea- 
gull and the breaker's roar. There was 
a solitary grandeur about the ocean at 
such a time ; there was a wild and melancholy 
sound in its surges roaring on the rocks ; there 
was a beauty in its great expanse that spoke 
wonders to his soul ! And as Patrick gazed, 
he felt the influence of such a scene working 
in his heart. He felt, as it were, the memory 
of old joys rushing through his mind ; felt his 
soul thrill with sweet, pious feelings towards 
God and men ; and as these thoughts and emo- 
tions came into his mind and bosom, he viewed 
the scene before him again and again with 
more satisfaction. “ What, ” considered he, 
“ must be the grand, solemn, awful beauty of 
the eternal sea and shore ! What variety 
must mark their surface ! What joy the blest 
must feel at seeing them, sweetened and 
charmed as they are by the breath of God ! ” 
Whilst indulging in such reflections about 
nine o’clock on one of those winter evenings, 
Patrick descried at a little distance, through a 
heavy mist that hung over the ocean, a large 
mass like a ship heaving in the water quite 
near the most rocky and dangerous part of the 
shore. His fears spoke to him of some terri- 
ble impending disaster; and they were soon 


54 


Alice Harmon. 


confirmed by a fearful sound of splitting tim- 
bers and of human voices expressive of agony 
and despair. He rushed instantly back to the 
house to inform the family of what he had 
seen and heard. Old Harmon and Alice 
brought forth lanterns, and went with all pos- 
sible speed to the scene of which Patrick had 
spoken. They had to descend from the top of 
the cliffs, down by a narrow and precipitous 
pass along the rocks, to gain the beach below, 
and, after arriving there, they were obliged to 
scramble over huge stones, between which the 
surges foamed and tumbled, in order to reach 
the sinking ship, which they soon perceived to 
be in a sad condition. As they advanced, the 
sounds of splitting timbers and of human 
voices in pain grew louder and more awful. 
The vessel had lost its course in the middle of 
the mist, and dashed against a frightful rock 
that stood separated from the rugged beach by 
about twenty yards of water. It was a large 
merchant brig, and had about fifty souls on 
board, as one of the crew on deck, who was af- 
terwards saved, declared. Its masts were broken 
with the violence of the storm and the shock 
which the vessel received against the rock. The 
waves entered it immediately, its lower deck 
being split, and out from the cabins and 
berths the passengers rushed with screams of 
terror and despair ; some kneeling and praying 


Alice Hannon. 


55 

to God for protection and mercy ; others, full 
of their presence of mind, searching for objects 
on which they might float safely on through 
the waves ; whilst the rest, forgetful of all in 
the midst of their horror and anguish, ex- 
claimed that they were sinking and lost for 
ever. The Harmons did not wait to gaze up- 
on this scene, but Patrick and his father ran a 
little further on to a part of the beach where 
their boat was moored. This they quickly 
put out, and rowed with all haste to the ship- 
wreck. Coming near, they were seen by some 
on the sinking vessel, and their arrival was 
hailed with shouts of welcome, thanksgiving, 
and joy. Whilst the vessel was sinking fast, 
some clung to the rigging with terrible tenaci- 
ty, some wrung their h'ands and screamed at not 
finding a plank on which to bear themselves 
over the waves, whilst others jumped over the 
side of the ship, and strove to swim towards 
Harmon’s approaching boat. Some were yet 
asleep in the cabins below, but were soon to 
be lost for ever in the middle of their watery 
tomb. The shouts ; the sinking ship ; ^ the 
terrible, misty night ; the awful shore and rocks 
around ; the mighty ocean, with its raging bil- 
lows ; the fearful thoughts and feelings that 
the scene inspired ; the memory of eternity, to 
which so many souls were rushing, all com- 
bined to make the Harmons feel at that time 


Alice Hannon. 


56 

sensations of pity, terror, and awe. They suc- 
ceeded in saving as many as their boat could 
carry, and rowed back to the shore with the 
utmost despatch, in order to return again to 
the wreck and rescue some others ; but before 
they put back to the shore, others endeavored, 
in their madness, to board the boat, already 
too crowded, and, after jumping in, capsized it. 
Then, indeed, a new succession of screams, and 
oaths, and blasphemies, and deaths took place. 
Some strangled each other in the excess of 
their rage ; more dashed their heads against 
the capsized boat, and made the billows red 
and swollen with their blood and tears. But 
the Harmons, though in the water, were skil- 
ful swimmers, and did not fear just yet but 
that God would deliver them from their pre- 
sent dangers. And he did, because Alice saw 
their difficulty at the time, and prayed to Je- 
sus and her guardian angel for them with 
tears and sighs of pity and of love. God 
heard her prayers, and saved her brother and 
father. They, with his divine assistance and 
the aid of another of the wrecked, who was 
strong and calm, succeeded in turning up the 
boat again and securing the oars. Whilst this 
accident was taking place, the ship went down, 
and only six of the whole number were saved. 
Patrick and his father rescued five from a wa- 
tery tomb, and brought them to land in their 


Alice Harmon, 


57 

boat. Another was saved by Alice. Whilst 
she was kneeling on the bare rocks over the 
surging waves, praying for the shipwrecked 
and her brother and father, she suddenly per- 
ceived a dark object struggling in the water 
before her, and faintly endeavoring to gain the 
shore. She judged at once that it was a pas- 
senger, and, trusting in the power and love of 
God and her guardian angel, she plunged into 
the sea, and brought the sinking, shivering 
form of a young man to the shore. He was 
about sixteen, and his face, even in its faint 
and gasping aspect, looked quite bright and 
heavenly above the gloomy waves. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE WRECKERS AND THE SAVED. 

ICE succeeded very soon in placing 
him whom she had delivered upon a 
large rock at hand, and proceeded at 
once to use her pocket-handkerchief 
to dry his lovely features. There was a beautiful 
smile upon them now, even in the midst of the 
young man’s insensibility. His long and jet- 
black hair gathered in masses over his smooth, 
pale forehead, and his clothes, recently rich 
and handsome, were now stained and torn by 




58 


Alice Harvion. 


the waters and the rocks. As she parted his 
dripping locks, moved at the time by the cha- 
rity of God for her neighbor, she saw his eyes 
open and gaze upon hers with a look of hope 
and thanks and joy. At the same time his 
lips opened, expressing their blandest smile. 
Alice was more than repaid for her kindness 
towards him by these expressions of his grati- 
tude. In her eagerness to reanimate the ex- 
hausted youth, she did not notice her brother 
hastening towards her, nor did she observe the 
number of men who were hurrying from the 
east and the west, on the beach and the 
summit of the cliffs, towards the shipwreck. 
But Patrick came, and wondered to see so 
handsome a young man whom Alice had 
saved. He raised him up, and brought him to 
the boat, where the rest were lying. In the 
meantime, the men who were running along 
the shore and rocks to the scene of the ship- 
wreck came with hammers and hatchets and 
saws, as if bent on some rough expedition. 
And, indeed, such was the case, for they were 
wreckers. No sooner had they seen the lamps 
shine on the rocks and the dark waves from 
their houses, than they ran at once to enrich 
themselves with whatever plunder they could 
gain. They came, and first began to see if any 
persons on the vessel could be saved. They 
were not inhuman or cruel, but they did not 


Alice Hannon. 


59 

scruple to take possession of all that could be 
had on the lost ship, lest it might be swallow- 
ed up in the bosom of the waves. They came 
to Harmon’s boat, and saw the rescued few. 
They gave them their own coats, and treat- 
ed them as sweetly and as tenderly as they 
could then do. When they had discharged this 
deed of charity, they made, with a wild 
yell, for the wrecked vessel, in boats which 
were well acquainted with every dangerous 
spot near that shore. They searched the whole 
wreck, and took all the valuables that they 
could seize along with them. They were suc- 
ceeded by others who were more lately in- 
formed of the existence of the shipwreck. 
Thus they followed in successive streams till 
morning came. Those in the boat soon fully 
revived after Patrick brought from the house 
and put in their mouths a small portion of 
brandy. They were all young men, except 
two of the number, who wore gray beards, 
and had sweet though wrinkled countenances. 
When they fully recovered from their fears 
and exhaustion, they expressed their thanks 
and praise in tones of the highest gratitude. 
They walked to the home of the Harmons, 
led on by the old man and Patrick. There they 
were cordially and hospitably received, and, 
whilst taking some wine and supper, the oldest 
amongst them informed the family that they 


6o 


Alice Harmon. 


had sailed about four or five days before from 
Liverpool, and were going to stop at Queens- 
town on their outward voyage to New York. 
They sailed along very safely till about seven 
o’clock on that evening, when a heavy mist 
came over the sea, and put the captain and 
crew, who were excited with grog, completely 
out of order. They cursed and swore, and 
fought between each other, to the great dis- 
gust, annoyance, and terror of the passengers. 
When the danger came, they did not make any 
efforts to save themselves or the others, but 
rushed to the grog, drank more freely, and 
welcomed death with horrid expressions and 
screams and gestures of defiance and rage. 
Providence saved but a few, and those had 
fallen into safe, kind hands. The five who were 
saved in the boat took their leave the next 
morning with many expressions of gratitude 
and thanks ; but the youth whom Alice deliv- 
ered from death was obliged to remain, as a 
fever seized his delicate form. He sometimes 
spoke quite sensibly, but raved nearly all the 
time. When consciousness returned, he spoke 
again and again with love and praise and joy 
of his noble and sweet deliverer. She came to 
him, and, with sanctity in her eyes and soul, 
spoke to him of God, his guardian angel, and 
the Blessed Virgin. He heard the first name 
with some satisfaction and delight, but paid 


Alice Harmon. 


6i 


little attention to the other two. Alice soon 
found out the reason when she learned that 
he was a Protestant. 


CHAPTER XIL 


A CONVERT. 



OON after this discovery, she made 
every effort in her power to convert 
the stranger. She spoke to him in- 
cessantly of the beauty and truth of 
her holy religion. She proved her assertions 
from the evident words of the Ploly Scriptures, 
from apostolic tradition, and reason. Her ar- 
guments were expressed with such sweetness 
and force, and she felt, as she spoke, such won- 
derful earnestness, that the youth was obliged 
to admit her assertions, and induced, by the 
grace of God, to yield to her wishes and be- 
come a Catholjc. He could scarcely believe 
that the guardian angel she spoke of was any 
other than herself, she tre^\ted him so lovingly 
and kindly. “ Oh ! ” said he often, as he raised 
his soft and shining, thankful eyes to Alice, “ if 
there are purer, holier, and fonder beings than 
you in heaven, it must be a lovely and desir- 
able land. Your religion must indeed be true, 
since it can awaken such noble feelings as you 
possess in a human heart. I have heard your 



62 


Alice Hannon. 


reasons simply and clearly, Miss Harmon. 1 
• have been instructed by you concerning the 
dogmas, rights, and ceremonies of your church, 
and am now so well satisfied with their reason- 
ableness and truth that I feel ashamed of my 
original ignorance and prejudice concerning 
them.” He spoke like one who truly saw the 
light, and made the first steps towards it. 
And God did not take away the lamp from his 
eyes, but brought it nearer, because he found 
the youth believing and prepared to do his 
will. The joy of- his heart was expressed 
in his countenance. The glory that he felt at 
the sudden rush from darkness into light was 
indicated in his manner and his look and 
language. “ Oh ! give me the truth,” he cried, 
from which I have been so long sepa- 
rated. Give me the heart of Him who 
said he mad.e bread his own body, and 
blood, and soul, and divinity for the sake of 
poor sinners like me. Give me a brighter 
look into the eternal pages of the book of 
life, and let me drink large draughts of know- 
ledge from that sacred fountain.” As he 
spoke, his whole face, manner, and person be- 
came, as it were, etherealized. He felt like fly- 
ing to heaven on the wings of faith and love, 
and could not moderate by any means the 
quantity of his joy. He did not rave any 
more. He grew stronger, bodily and mentally. 


Alice Harmon. 


63 

hour after hour, and expressed again and 
again a desire to be changed. He wished the 
priest of the neighboring village to see him. 
His desire was gratified, and Father Virgilius 
soon arrived, to find him beautifully disposed 
to become a convert. The priest soon ac- 
quainted him with a knowledge of all those 
points of Catholic doctrine which Alice Har- 
mon did not tell him. As he became more 
informed about the Church of Rome, his love 
and admiration for it began to increase. His 
spiritual eyesight became sharper and bright- 
er. His capacity to learn grew with his fer- 
vor, and he saw, as it were, a new sea, lit up 
with the glory and beauty of the Eternal 
Truth and Sunshine. He saw true liberty 
preached in the Church of Rome — that is, free- 
dom from spiritual despotism, and adherence to 
the law of God. Father Virgilius made it clear 
to him that it was the church established by 
Christ himself, as the Scripture says, and, since 
it was, one holy Catholic and Apostolic, and 
superior far in numbers to all the Christian 
sects combined throughout the world. He 
perceived from the Sacred Scriptures that 
Christ would be with it all days to the end 
of time, directing it and keeping it from er- 
ror. The gates of hell cannot prevail against 
it. It had its unbroken succession of pontiffs, 
bishops, and priests, all laboring 'n the minis- 


Alice Harmon. 


64 

try, continent and sweet, for the salvation and 
love of souls. This Church of Rome had its holy 
sacraments, instituted by our divine Lord for 
the spiritual joy and benefit of men, as Father 
Virgilius proved clearly to the youth from 
Scripture, tradition, and reason. It honored 
and invoked the saints, the angels, and the 
Mother of God, because they are worthy of 
all reverence and fondness, as the blessed 
friends of Jesus, and capable of moving his 
loving heart for our sakes when he wills. 
The young man now believed with the Holy 
Catholic Church, from the clear sense of the 
inspired Word, that it is a “ holy and a whole- 
some thought to pray for the dead, that they 
might be loosened from their sins.” He saw 
the common sense and truth of the Catholic 
doctrine of justification, which means that 
none can be made just except by faith at- 
tended with good works. And he now per- 
ceived that this faith was not a mere assurance 
of one’s being saved by the merits of Christ, 
but a full belief in all the^ truths revealed by 
him or taught by his Church, on account of 
his godly authority. Faith, without good 
works, is dead, and doth not justify, says the 
Holy Scripture. The devils themselves be- 
lieve, but in vain, as their faith cannot gain 
for them a single instant of light, and love, and 
peace, and joy. As the sunshine enters and 


Alice Harmon. 


65 

delights the eye of him who issues from a 
prison den into the glory of tho morning, so 
the brightness of truth filled the soul of that 
youth with sweetness and gladness. He got 
some holy Catholic books that treated ele- 
gantly and simply of faith and morals, from 
Father Virgilius, and exulted at the thought 
of the pleasure and the profit their perusal 
would afford him. He kept his mind recollect- 
ed and his senses cairn at this time, in order 
to receive the sacrament of baptism condition- 
ally and with proper devotion. Every day he 
did not fail to return thanks to Alice for her 
heroism and her kindness. He attributed to 
the shipwreck the occasion of his present joy 
and spiritual comforts. He was now quite elas- 
tic, and well able to walk on the cliffs and 
breathe the full swell of the ocean. He was 
indeed a noble, handsome youth. His fea- 
tures were beautifully regular, his hair black as 
jet and naturally curly, his eyes were soft and 
clear, full of expression, and his smile spoke 
all the sweetness and beauty of a soul full of 
meekness and kindness. His unde owned the 
ship that went down, and he himself was lost 
with it. He was a Liverpool merchant, and 
brought his nephew, George Marlow, across for 
tlie first time to see Ireland. George was soon 
baptized by Father Virgilius, and then, indeed, 
he felt all the satisfaction and the joy that 


66 


Alice Harmo?i. 


spring from the possession of truth ; then, in- 
deed, he felt how sweet it was to be a Catho- 
lic. He knew, of course, that its doctrines and 
discipline were pretty severe, and that they 
savored of the cross and the crown of thorns ; 
but he loved it all the more on this account, 
because he knew that those would bring him 
nearer to the spirit of Jesus. He read with 
avidity and love the lives of the saints, and 
there he found out truly that nothing in this 
world is sweeter and lighter than the burden 
and yoke of our Saviour. He saw that they 
turned thorns into roses by their love, and 
vinegar into honey by their patience. ‘ “ Oh ! 
how beautiful,'' he thought, “ is the inner life 
of grace and sanctity. How easy to procure 
it, if one is only willing; how good a Lord I 
have to take me from the danger, and place 
me in the bosom of the true church, where 
religion, morality, and knowledge are so much 
cultivated, admired, and loved. Praise be 
to his holy name for ever." With words 
and thoughts like these George Marlow 
passed some hours each day. He read some 
books on the priesthood, and felt a strong in- 
clination towards that sublime and holy state. 
He dreaded his incapacity, yet he hoped, and, 
as his hopes increased, all difficulty seemed 
to vanish. He had in his pocketbook, which 
was saved, a bank-check for five hundred 


Alice Harmon, 


6 / 


pounds. With this he could succeed in going 
to the city of New York, and enter a college 
there to become a priest. He would not re- 
turn to England, as he feared to confront the 
angry faces of his family, who would no doubt 
be enraged to hear of his conversion to the 
Church of Rome ; so he imparted to the Har- 
mon family his intention of sailing from 
Queenstown to the United States in a few 
days. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

DESCRIPTION OF SEA SCENERY AND YOUGHAL, 
IN THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 

E Harmons approved of George 
Marlow’s determination, but felt 
sorry to think that he would go from 
amongst them so soon. They sug- 
gested the advantage of remaining in Ireland 
till the winter would have passed, as a voyage 
to New York in that season would naturally 
be attended by some inconvenience and 
danger. This idea also occurred to George, 
and made him slow to keep to his old resolu- 
tion. 

The sight of the angry waves also beating 
against the rocks and cliffs, speaking of all the 



68 


Alice Harmon. 


horrors of the outer sea, confirmed him in his 
determination to postpone his voyage till the 
spring-time came. 

It was now near the end of January, and the 
days were indeed rainy, cold, and dreary ; still, 
there was a wild and solemn grandeur about 
the appearance of the lofty cliffs and the great' 
sea that awoke feelings of wonder, delight, and 
love in George’s heart. He went with Patrick 
some days for a few miles along the rocky 
shore to the east till he came within view of 
the coast-guard station of Knockadoon. It 
.was perched upon a chain of rocks that ran 
out upon the ocean, and looked quite wild and 
sublime in its proud position, with the sweet 
hills and valleys of a softer pastoral scene be- 
hind it. Underneath were dark caves, into 
which the waves of the sea entered roaring. Be- 
yond, in the water, lay lovely Cable Island, and 
Youghal Harbor running into land. White 
cottages dotted the summit of the dark, rocky 
cliffs further to the east, and, still further be- 
yond, the gloomy woods of Ballymacoda dis- 
played their solemn beauty. 

One day Patrick and George took the little 
boat in the morning early, and started from 
home towards Youghal, about ten miles dis- 
tant. The day was clear, and calm, and frosty. 
The sun shone gloriously over the deep-blue 
waves of the ocean, and the scenery on all 


Alice Harmon. 


69 

sides looked bold and beautiful. They sang ajid 
chatted, and fished sometimes, as they flew 
over the waves. As they advanced along the 
waters, near the shore, they gazed intently 
and with joy upon the beautiful coast-scenery 
of the South of Ireland. It was charmingly 
varied with creeks, and glens, and woods, and 
gardens, and sparkling white cabins, and rocks, 
and caves, and other objects fair and beautiful 
in nature. They had a music-box in the boat, 
of great power and sweetness, and its soft, 
mournful airs, discoursed with such feeling 
and tenderness, bathed their souls in a sea of 
delight, and made them more apt to be moved 
by the exquisite character of the scenery. It 
swelled over the waves with a magic power, 
and its thrilling influence, coupled with the 
gentle rise and fall of the boat on the. billows, 
acted on the souls and senses of the two 
young men like an enchantment. 

They soon came in sight of the town of 
Youghal, with its beautiful beach, its hills 
crowned with lovely villas, and its antiquated 
streets and houses. When they came on 
shore, everything about that town reminded 
them of its great antiquity. There was the 
old clock-gate, which witnessed many a scene 
of strife on either side of it. There were 
the old-fashioned buildings and lanes, the 
quays and the squares, and the market-places. 


70 


Alice Harmon. 


Some of the streets were remarkably irregular, 
with dilapidated houses, whilst others dis- 
played an order and a beauty in themselves 
and the buildings that lined them which indi- 
cated a great want of a love for harmony 
in the construction of the town. George 
and Patrick went to see what was once the 
grand old Catholic cathedral of the place, but 
which was now in the possession of heretics, 
who robbed the country of its brightest 
ornaments. It was situated on a hill that 
overlooked the town and the ocean. It was 
large and massive, and beautiful in its style of 
architecture. When they gazed upon its ivy- 
covered walls, its beautiful traceried windows, 
its antique doors, and its holy-water font, their 
hearts were filled with feelings of religious 
praise and awe. They fancied they heard 
again the songs of David chanted by the good 
priests of the past within its walls. They 
entered, and then their joy was heightened by 
the grand and serious aspect of the ceiling 
and the walls. They beheld the same old oak 
pulpit there from which orthodox orators had 
spoken in earlier times. They saw the sculp- 
tured, tinctured images of the Earl of Cork 
and his family gracing and adorning the shelves 
and niches in the walls, but they observed the 
absence of Him who is the true, eternal orna- 
ment of the church of God. There was no 


Alice Harmon. 


n 

beauty in the interior of that temple, save that 
which it acquired from Catholic art in by-gone 
times. 

The rites and ceremonies of the one true church 
were no longer exercised within those walls. 
There was no altar there where sacrifice might 
be made to the Most High ; there were no 
candles to give brightness and attraction to 
the place of God, nor cross, nor image, nor 
confessional, to which men could repair, that 
they might be pardoned, blessed, and healed 
by Jesus. All those were absent, and the dark 
oak pulpit alone gave evidence that religion 
and God were spoken of there. Patrick ex- 
pressed his thoughts and feelings on this 
point to George, and the latter felt it, since he 
had seen the bright and holy appearance of 
the little church and altar of Shanagarry. 
They soon left the building, and came abroad 
to view the town, sending up its sounds of 
life and bustle and joy from beneath them ; 
to see the bay, shining in the sunlight, and the 
lovely river Blackwater, broad and clear, with 
the woods and fields beyond. They perceived, 
just near the church, the house once occupied 
by Sir Walter Raleigh when he came to 
Youghal, and the garden also where the potar 
to was planted for the first time in Irish 
ground. 

The house was covered with ivy and rose 


72 


Alice Harmon. 


creepers, and bore the style of Queen Eliza- 
beth’s time. It was quite a curiosity, on ac- 
count of its antiquity and the fact of that 
great baronet having lived for some time with- 
in its walls. After spending some hours with- 
in the town, George and Patrick resolved to 
return home. The evening was cold and 
clear, and the moon showed her face, some- 
what partially, near the horizon over the sea. 
They welcomed its appearance with joy, be- 
cause they knew that its beautiful glow 
would light them home. Their boat was 
tidy and beautiful in its shape. There 
was a brisk breeze blowing, which would 
soon swell their sails and bear them home- 
wards. The cold increased but their hearts 
were warm and their souls fair and pure, 
so they did not mind it. As they went 
along, they often saw the sea-pigs jump- 
ing over the waves ; they saw the beautiful 
hues in the clouds tinging with their glory 
the lovely sea. They sang songs, ate heartily, 
chatted lively, and were not slow to express 
their satisfaction with the day’s trip by looks 
and words and gestures of joy. When they 
came near the cliffs of Ballycotton, they saw 
Alice looking out for them on the rocky shore. 
She waved her handkerchief and clapped her 
hands, bidding them welcome home. They 
slept soundly and sweetly that night, and 


Alice. Harmon. 73 

resolved to start for the city of Cork next 
morning. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A DRIVE TO MOGEELA, AND A COMICAL SCENE 
ON THE JOURNEY. 

HE morning that broke upon the 
sleep of the two youths was just as 
bright and lovely -as they could de- 
sire it. 

After an early breakfast, they had old Har- 
mon’s jaunting-car and pony brought from the 
coach-house and stable, in order to go to the 
railway -station of Mogeela. It was about 
seven miles distant. A little fellow from the 
village was to go along with them, and bring 
back the horse and car to Ballycotton. 

The jaunting-car in question was one of 
the most quaint of its kind. It was a heavy 
but solid conveyance, having two wheels pos- 
sessing more utility than ornament. Its two 
seats were placed one on each side, and their 
separate steps hung down respectively, like 
the wings of a hungry, mournful goose jumping 
into a pond on a cold, frosty morning. It had 
a well between the two seats and in the middle 
of the vehicle. Into this spot were put pro- 
visions for the road, and other useful com- 



74 


Alice Harmon. 


modities. A stout, fat, burly boy or girl also 
took possession of it as often as the side seats 
afforded them no room. A box for the driver 
was placed in front, just large enough to afford 
room for the leanest individual. Upon this 
box the young chap mounted, and seized the 
whip and reins. The pony looked rough and 
stout and cunning, and stamped his foot after 
a good feed in the morning. 

His harness was neat and clean, and he raised . 
and lowered his head, after the fashion of the 
proudest steed, in the glorious sunlight. When 
all was ready, George and Patrick bade the 
Harmons good-morning, and drove away to 
the railway-station. They passed along a beau- 
tiful country, heard the dogs bark on the roads, 
saw the children play, heard the peasants 
sing, and beheld the pigs and goats and roos- 
ters enjoying themselves. Whoever they met 
on the way saluted them with a sweet wish of 

God bless you ! ” They came, after a little 
time, on the top of a hill that overlooked the 
sweet village of Ladysbridge. From this spot 
they beheld a lovely, wide landscape exposing 
its glorious woods, hills, vales, glens, rivers, 
and houses to the beautiful sunlight. When 
they entered the village, they beheld a monkey 
before a door with a man who had a barrel- 
organ. At one time the cute little animal 
played a fiddle, at another time he danced a 


A/ii'i' Harmon. 


75 

jig and puffed a sweet cigar. Whenever he 
got a penny, he smiled and bowed his head to 
express his thanks; but when he was refused, 
he snarled, hung his tail, and turned away 
with a frown. Patrick and George had not 
been looking on long when they beheld a 
novel and exciting incident. The monkey 
was playing his quiet jokes, whilst the man 
continued to hold him by the chain, till he 
was interrupted by the pig who walked on 
grunting a few yards beyond. 

The tricksome quadruped no sooner beheld 
the lazy hog, , for whom he entertained a 
great repugnance, than he darted suddenly 
after him, dragging the chain along with him 
out of his owner’s hands. He soon succeeded 
in overtaking the pig, who ran off the instant 
he beheld him. He mounted on his back, 
amidst the yells and laughter of the lookers-on, 
and seized the hog by both ears with his front 
paws. He pressed his hind legs against the 
hog’s haunches, and, despite all the exertions 
of the grunter, succeeded in keeping his hold. 
The pig jumped over a little fence into the 
village green, where there was a pool full of 
ducks. Now the excitement of the scene was 
at its fullest height when the pig jumped into 
the pool, when the ducks ran away shrieking, 
and when the organ-grinder followed after his 
animal with cries and wringing hands. The 


Alice Harmon. 


;6 

hog' groaned again and again under the fright- 
ful agonies which the monkey inflicted on him 
by digging his hind paws in his haunches and 
wringing his ears. At last, impelled by despair, 
he made one final and successful eflbrt to rid 
himself of his persecutor. After failing to 
shake the monkey off his back, he tumbled into 
the pool, and sought to get his tormentor un- 
der him. By this dodge he soon succeeded in 
making the monkey relax his hold ; and no 
sooner did the pig perceive his advantage than 
he darted towards his vanquished enemy, and 
gave him a terrible punch in the pit of his 
stomach with all the force of his sharp-pointed 
snout. The hog then darted off, and left the 
monkey covered with wet and shame and con- 
fusion. No sooner had the organ-grinder 
recovered his property than Patrick and 
George continued their journey. They drove 
along a beautiful road that was lined all the 
time on one side by a lofty, ivy-covered wall 
that partly enclosed a large and grand de- 
mesne, till they came to the exquisite little 
town of Castlemartyr. 


Alice Harmon* 


n 


CHAPTER XV. 

PASSING VIEWS OF SOME TOWNS IN THE 
SOUTH OF IRELAND. 

HEY saw in this one of the most 
charming little towns in the South 
of Ireland. It had its bridge and 
its sweet river, its post-office, court- 
house, police-station, pump, and village green. 
Its main street was very broad and level, hav- 
ing houses on either side remarkable for their 
regularity and neatness. Trees of lofty growth 
grew here and there, shadowing the side- 
walks where they stood with their broad limbs 
and branches. At the top of the chief street 
stood the entrance to a large and beautiful de- 
mesne. As they drove through the town, they 
saw the summit of the old castle appearing 
above the trees, and the flag of the nobleman 
who kept the place, higher still waving and 
shining in the sunlight and the breeze. The 
town itself looked peaceful and lovely. Its in- 
habitants were quiet and good, and all the time 
engaged in doing something useful. They 
quitted it, delighted with its aspect, and, as they 
journeyed on towards Mogeela, they looked 
with pleasure at the two cascades on the 
river which threw their spray silvery-like into 
the brilliant sunshine. They saw the grange, 



78 


Alice Harmo7i. 


with its grass still green though frosty, and 
boys playing in it. They passed by orchards, 
groves, glebes, and pleasant fields. The train 
conveyed them from Mogeela station to the 
city of Cork, hurrying them along through a 
lovely country, now flat, now undulating, al- 
ways fresh and green. 

The woods of Ballynona and Kilmountain, 
the sweet villas nestled on the heights between 
the trees, the full and lovely river stealing 
through the groves and meadows, the vil- 
lages here and there, with the smoke from 
the houses, and the cattle grazing in the 
balmy fields, all burst upon the sight of 
the two youths, and filled their souls with 
gladness. They soon reached the Middle- 
ton station, which they found the largest 
and the busiest on that line. They beheld 
its vast and handsome almshouse in the 
distance, its church steeples, mills, distiller- 
ies, and other business buildings, all looking 
solid and beautiful in the middle of the nu- 
merous trees that surrounded them. All the 
face of the country on the way to Cork looked 
rich and woody and pleasing, even in the win- 
ter-time. After coming to the junction mid- 
way between Middleton and Cork, they re- 
solved to leave the train on which they tra- 
velled from Mogeela, and enter one which 
would soon meet them on its trip to Queens- 


Alice Hannon. 


79 

town. This they soon did, and in a short time 
reached that pleasant seaport town. George 
was delighted with the position of Queens- 
town. It was perched on a lovely hill that 
overlooked Cork Harbor. Street over-topped 
street as in a staircase. The masts of the 
vessels on the water looked like a little forest, 
they were so numerous. As they came nearer, 
they heard the sailors singing and whistling on 
the ladders, bells ringing over the waves, and 
a military band playing exquisite music on a 
grand promenade near the waters. They 
saw the town crowded with foreigners, and the 
numerous hotels visited by many a stranger. 
They were delighted with the beautiful ap- 
pearance of Spike Island, where the convicts 
were confined, resting calmly and sweetly on 
the waves. They saw Aurboulin, where the 
government ammunition stores were erected, 
running out into the water, with various-color- 
ed streamers floating from the buildings that 
adorned it. The people on every side seemed 
full of life and joy. The streets resounded 
with the sound of vagrant singers, fiddles, bag- 
pipes, and barrel-organs. They soon got on 
board a steamboat which was going to the city 
of Cork ; and as they coursed along the waves, 
they beheld scenery that was quite enchanting. 
They viewed the town of Passage, “ both nate, 
dacent, and situated near the say.” There 


8o 


Alice Harmon. 


were seen an endless succession of groves, 
and sweet lawns, and lovely houses, and rills 
tumbling down from rocky, moss-covered hills 
into the waters of the river Lee, over which 
their steamer bounded. They saw roads out- 
side sweet villages, lined by rocks, covered 
with charming shrubbery and evergreens that 
looked quite summer-like in the winter season. 

At the various landings at which the steam- 
er called they saw healthy boys and girls, full 
of life and glee. They perceived various boats 
upon the river, rowed by persons who seemed 
to be skilled and delighted in the exercise. 
Black Rock Castle, with its lovely, antique 
shape, its solid masonry and handsome sight, 
seemed to them to rise like a fairy building 
from the bosom of the waves, and to lend a 
charming effect to the scenery around it. The 
beautiful convent of the Ursuline Nuns rose 
conspicuous to their sight from the midst of 
the other buildings of the village. The pre- 
sence of the sweet villas, gardens, statues, con- 
servatories, groves, and lawns along the river 
made the route exceedingly pleasant till the 
travellers came to Cork. PI ere they saw more 
life and wealth and power than they beheld 
elsewhere. The streets were thronged with 
wagons hurrying to and fro, and the sidewalks 
crowded with women and men. The shops 
looked rich and neat, though the houses were 


Alice Harmon, 


8l 


not regular in point of size. The noise of the 
foundries near the quays was distinctly heard, 
ringing out in the frosty air. The city had 
some good hotels, an extensive military bar- 
rack, many excellent churches, large foundries, 
a Queen’s College, and some splendid schools. 
The banks, market, and other public institu- 
tions were quite in harmony with the size and 
character of the city. Its people were busy, 
honest, and kind. Placed in a valley sui round- 
ed by wooded hills covered with lovely man- 
sions, the city of Cork, with its various charms 
and its Shandon bells, seemed matchless when 
compared with many Irish towns. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

VISIT TO THE BLARNEY-STONE, AND ARRIVAL 
OF THE CHOLERA. 

FTER spending a day or two in the 
house of a friend in Cork, Patrick 
and George set out for the town of 
Blarney. They were anxious to gaze 
on and kiss, if possible, the famous castle stone. 
They journeyed through a delightful country 
till the village appeared in view. The castle 
was placed on the side of a hill encircled with 
charming groves. Streams and a lovely river 



82 


Alice Hannon. 


fertilized the plains through which they wan- 
dered. The village of Blarney appeared just 
near, looking bright and picturesque on that 
frosty morning. It was about five miles from 
the city of Cork, and the frequent visits made 
to it by the citizens of that town gave to the 
village a lively and engaging aspect. 

The place is rendered far more interesting 
and attractive in these latter times by the large 
and beautiful Turkish bath establishments of 
Dr. Barter. Here there are separate houses 
for the rich and poor. Some of the wealthiest 
and noblest amongst the society of Ireland and 
England come here to share each other’s com- 
pany and the exquisite charms and joys which 
the baths afford. The beautiful scenery of the 
spot and the Blarney-stone form another source 
of attraction. The excellent doctor has a sep- 
arate apartment in his house stored with the 
rarest curiosities, with wonders from the East 
and every land. His generous nature makes 
him lay all open to the view of visitors, and 
his sweet, amiable, noble manners endear him to 
the memories and hearts of all. The two youths, 
after visiting the various charms of classic 
Blarney, were deprived of the pleasure of kiss- 
ing the stone, as the attempt would be much 
too hazardous. They heard the old woman at 
the gate of the castle employ as much blarney 
as the stone could afford towards themselves 


A/ ICC Hannon. 


83 

and other strangers. They went away despair- 
ing to obtain that eloquence which the magic 
stone is said to be able to impart, still hoping 
that they could gratify their wishes on some 
future day. Before quitting for home, George 
Marlow resolved to call at the Inman office at 
Queenstown, and give them notice that he re- 
quired a berth on one of their best steamships 
about the first or second week of the coming 
month of March. But when they came to that 
sweet seaport town, they were horrified and 
alarmed to hear that some cases of cholera had 
come on shore. It travelled across from Eng- 
land, in some parts of which it raged, and was 
now going to make some victims on Irish 
ground. Its presence, name, and memory 
spread terror through the town. The very 
thought of it seemed infectious, and every one 
who passed by the neighborhood through 
which the dying persons moved ran frighten- 
ed home to use some medicines to resist its 
power. Upon learning this bad news, George 
and Patrick did not visit the Inman office, but 
hastened homewards as quickly as possible by 
the very next train. Before they left, six per- 
sons fell fatal victims to the terrible scourge. 
Everywhere presented fearful bustle and ex- 
citement. The men on the quays, stores, 
streets, hotels, and railroads were so confused 
at this dread intelligence that they did not 


A /ice Harmon, 


84 

know what they were doing. The two youths, 
in the midst of all this fright, heard with de- 
light the whistle of the train that was to take 
them home. As they flew along, they seemed 
to breathe a healthier atmosphere. They did 
not feel the presence of the deadly malady 
now, but they saw with joy the roads, gar- 
dens, evergreens, hills, and fields of the coun- 
try. After arriving at Mogeela station, they 
proceeded to Castlemartyr, about one mile 
distant, and stayed there that night. On the 
next day George, while standing at the door- 
way of the house in which he lodged, saw the 
little boy, with Harmon’s jaunting-car and 
pony, coming up the street. They drove joy- 
fully home, and reached Ballycotton early in 
the evening. The family of the Harmons were 
overjoyed at seeing them back again. Glad- 
ness kindled in the face of the blind woman 
when she grasped her son’s warm hand. It 
was beautiful to see that family on that night, 
so peaceful and so happy. God was remem- 
bered ardently in their rosary, in their smiles 
and words of praise and love. Their jests and 
joys were simple and artless ; their love for 
moderation evident in every sense ; and their 
attachment to regularity in time and action 
most excellent and exemplary. There was no 
anxiety about the morrow, no worldly cares, 
no plotting schemes to injure or to wrong. 


Alice Harmon, 


85 

Alice prayed to her angel guardian, spoke of 
his goodness and his love, and often read holy 
books to the family. The names of Jesus, 
Mary, and Joseph were frequent there, and 
never expressed but in tones and looks of the 
highest respect and love. But a danger threat- 
ened to break in like an angry cloud upon the 
harmony and the light of this sweet family. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HORRORS OF THE CHOLERA AMONG THE 
HARMONS. 

FTER a few weeks had passed along, 
the awful cholera spread through 
many a village and town in the South 
of Ireland. It travelled swift as 
thought through many parts of the country. 
Its name brought terror to the good and 
healthy people of Ballycotton. They feared 
that its poisonous breath would steal from in- 
fectious ships over the waves, and come into 
their little houses. They offered up prayer 
and sighs to God to turn away the danger 
from them, if it were his holy will. They 
used every means themselves to avert it. They 
heard with pity and dread of the frightful 
ravages that it was making in the large towns, / 



86 


Alice Harmon, 


especially in those quarters where poverty 
and dirt and drunkenness dwelt. They heard 
with joy of the great courage and love of the 
priests of their church at this period, how 
they explored the darkest and most loathsome 
places in the towns to impart peace, and grace, 
and hope, and glory to the dying ; how they 
stayed up at nights, comforting, feeding, bless- 
ing, and sending souls to God ; how they 
denied themselves food, rest, and pleasure for 
the sake of those whom they had nourished 
with the Word and Blood of Jesus. And 
Father Virgilius bore witness to this truth, as 
Ballycotton now afforded him some opportu- 
nity of displaying his earnest zeal and love. 
The first case of cholera there was one of the 
Harmons. The good and pious father of that 
loving family was the first sore victim. The 
disease would probably not have visited his 
clean, neat place and killed him were it not 
owing to the arrival there of a poor, sick 
stranger. 

This unknown came one evening in the 
height of the dark, penniless, hungry, and fa- 
tigued, from a long journey. He would not 
venture to enter into a dwelling-house, as he 
feared the cholera was upon him, and that he 
would bring death and terror by his presence ; 
so he resolved to steal into a barn near the 
Harmons, and die there quietly, trusting that 


Alice Harmon, 


87 


in this way he would not be the cause of any 
losses to the people of Ballycotton. Old, and 
almost starving, he had caught the malady but 
a few minutes before from an inhabitant of the 
village who was being brought home from the 
neighboring town to be buried by night in the 
grave of his family at Killcreden. No Sooner 
had the dying old man crossed the threshold 
of the barn than he dropped upon the floor, 
and, with the usual symptoms of that disease 
working hard upon him, at once expired. Old 
Harmon, as usual, arose at an early hour the 
next morning, and, after dressing, repaired, as 
was his wont, to the barn to see things all 
right. What was his astonishment and horror 
to see a corpse, stiff and thin, with an awful 
look of agony on the features, lying on the 
ground before him. He shrieked and turned 
pale, and ran to the house, whilst a terrible 
chill passed through his body. He feared 
that the cholera had come, and that he was to 
be its victim. No sooner had this thought 
occurred to him than a noble, bright, and 
loving one at the same time rushed to his 
mind. He did not wish to let his family 
know it, lest their attention upon him would 
expose them to the same danger. He deter- 
mined to call George Marlow, to tell him to go 
beyond the house, and that he would speak to 
him from a distance. George arose quickly 


88 


Alice Harinon. 


when old Harmon called him, came forth 
dressed, and ran, as he was bidden, without 
knowing the reason, to some fifty yards be- 
yond, to be spoken to. The poor old man 
told him, in tones of pain, that he was dying of 
the cholera, that he was going to drop in the 
barn, where another victim was lying dead, 
that he would lock himself up within it, and 
begged of him not to inform the family of his 
end, lest they might fall, but implored of him 
to hasten with all of them as quick as possible 
to the house of his brother Dan, on the beach 
beyond Ballycotton. 

George, alarmed and filled with agony at 
this sad news, thinking it prudent to act as 
directed, rushed at once into the house, and 
found Patrick and Alice fully dressed. He 
did not break to them the dread intelligence, 
but informed them that their father wished 
them to go to the house of their uncle in Bal- 
lylander, as the cholera was approaching, and 
that he would follow them. How were they 
to manage about their blind mother, since she 
would not go without old Harmon, their lives 
and hearts were so knit together? She said 
that God would befriend her in the height of 
her loneliness, and that she would soon follow 
them to the house with her own dear Harmon. 
No sooner had George and the two young 
Harmons departed with all the speed of which 


Alice Harmon, 


89 

they were capable, than the blind woman 
came to the door. A terrible presentiment of 
some impending danger occurred to her. She 
augured the truth of this feeling, also, from the 
confusion of action and voices which occurred 
so lately in the house, and from her previous 
knowledge of the existence of cholera in the 
country. Whilst thinking like this, in front of 
the misty ocean, which she did not see, with 
her face on flame with love and devotion, and 
her hands uplifted in prayer, her ears quickly 
caught the dying sigh of somebody near. The 
painful moan came from the barn. She rush- 
ed towards it, but found the door locked. She 
shouted aloud for Patrick. Another sigh came, 
which she knew to be that of her husband. 
She ran around to the barn window, and threw 
it open. She entered, and ran to the spot 
from which the sound came. There was no 
other moan, as the heart that before produced 
it was now without motion. She stumbled 
against a body. She felt its hands and face. 
They were not those of her husband, but they 
were icy cold. A pang of joy and hope shot 
through her soul, though an icy chill seemed 
to run through her frame at the same time. 

Surely,” she said to herself, “ the face of the 
man whom I now heard moaning is not that 
one I touched, as it ought to be warmer.” She 
went nearer to the door, and stumbled, as she 


90 


Alice Harmon. 


advanced, upon the body of her husband, 
shivering at the same time with the cholera. 
She sighed and screamed. Her fears told hei 
that this was the corpse of her beloved Patrick. 
She felt his face and hands ; they were those of 
her husband. At this discovery a wild and 
agonizing scream escaped blind Mrs. Har- 
mon. In the height of her darkness and her 
woe, she thought she saw her husband lying 
cold and blood-stained on the barn floor ; but 
her eye of faith and love beheld another scene. 
She pictured to herself his soul in glory, robed 
with the light of the Lamb, and plunged in a 
sea of eternal joy. She felt that she, too, was 
hurrying quickly to another life ; and this emo- 
tion made her resigned to the will of Christ 
with respect to her husband. Weakness and a 
terrible chill, with a convulsive shuddering 
through her body, brought her almost lifeless 
to* the floor. In the midst of her physical 
gloom she feasted spiritually on divine scenes. 
She felt in her heart a more intense love for 
God and a greater hatred for sin. She again 
and again uttered sighs of contrition, and hun- 
gered and thirsted for the body and blood of 
her Saviour. She cried in fainting accents for 
the priest, and, as she sank, she thought she 
had her wishes realized in the presence of 
Father Virgilius. She heard a sudden, rapid, 
and heavy thundering at the door. She knew 


A /ice Harmon. 


91 


the voice of the priest, and her dying heart 
thrilled with joy when she heard it. God sent 
him thither quickly, as old Harmon told George 
Marlow, before he died, to call for the priest, 
that he might be at the house in case of any 
danger. He Avas not alarmed for himself, as 
he had gone to confession and received Holy 
Communion on the previous morning. The 
priest rushed as quickly as possible, after receiv- 
ing the sad, terrible news, to the house of the 
Harmons, hoping to find the old man alive 
before him. But he Avas grieved and disap- 
pointed to see him lying dead, Avith the corpse 
of the strange man, on the barn floor, after his 
arrival ; still, he thanked God that he Avas not 
too late to save one soul. 


CHAPTER XVHI. 

DEATH OF BLIND MRS. HARMON, AND HE- 
ROIC CONDUCT OF FATHER VIRGILIUS. 

SIGH of sorroAV escaped Father 
Virgilius Avhen he found that two 
had died Avithout the last sacra- 
ments ; but he thanked his God that 
Mrs. Harmon Avould not go to the other land 
Avithout receiving them. She Avas almost un- 
conscious, as he bent over her. There Avas an 



Alice Harmon. 


92 

intolerable odor in the barn. Her face was 
ashy pale. A clammy, oily sweat covered her 
hands and features. She gasped the priest’s 
name when she heard his soft, consoling voice. 
She asked for her blessed Saviour. Father 
Virgilius heard her confession with joy, and 
gave her the host, as his fingers trembled with 
piety, delight, and reverence. He did not 
fear the terrible disease that was raging near 
him. He thought only of his duty. He was 
filled at the time to overflowing Avith a love 
for God and for those souls whom he had 
shed his precious blood to save. The Holy 
Viaticum seemed to give physical light to the 
glazed and gloomy eyes of Mrs. Harmon. A 
smile of joy stole sweetly over her withering 
lips ; a celestial expression illumined her fea- 
tures; her eyes seemed animated with a new 
soul ; the glory of the sunshine stole into 
them, filling her spirit with joy ; she opened 
them out. God had worked a great miracle 
through the force of the sacrament. Alice’s 
prayers for her mother were heard ; but the 
light of day availed her fittle now, as she could 
not long enjoy it. The breeze from the sea 
swept in through the barn window, and the 
sky above, with its sun and its lovely blue, 
spoke wonders of glory and love to the mind 
of dying Mrs. Harmon. She gasped forth 
praises and thanks to her Lord ; she received, 


Alice Hannon. 


93 

with delight and grateful love, the holy oint- 
ments ; she knew that they were meant to 
raise her body and soul, to banish her waver- 
ings, to strengthen her hopes, to make her re- 
cline with love on the bosom of Christ, to 
purify her spirit, and to sanctify her senses. 
Now, then, when all this was accomplished, 
she feared not death ; she defied the devils who 
gathered near her and sought to damn her 
soul ; she cried out with more power upon the 
names of Jesus and Mary and wet with her 
tears of thanks and love the hands of Father 
Virgilius. 

Now she saw the glory of God around 
her; heard the sweet voice of her husband, 
whom she so dearly loved, the soft music of 
the angels, and the magic tones of God. Her 
days in the past were ones of innocence, 
peace, and devotion ; so she hoped, with 
God’s assistance, that they would be prolong- 
ed and heightened soon in the heavenly land. 
Thoughts and feelings of love and joy were 
filling her mind and heart when the last 
agonizing thrill passed over her frame. She 
gazed at Father Virgilius, and then on high ; 
and whilst trying to make the sign of the cross, 
her spirit went up from its house of clay into 
the bosom of Jesus. There her eyes looked 
forward no more into the darkness, but into 
the eternal light of the Almighty, whom she 


94 


Alice Hannon. 


gazed upon with unspeakable joy, ever lovely 
without a change ; there she mingled in 
sweet communion with the blest, remember- 
ing with affection the ones whom she had 
loved on earth ; there she feasted, without 
end, in the sight, light, love, and beauty of 
the blessed Jesus. 

Oh! how Father Virgilius felt the truth of 
all this, as a kind of a sweet, divine vision ap- 
peared to him after the death of good Mrs. 
Harmon. But he could not tarry longer now, 
as he feared that cases of a similar kind await- 
ed him elsewhere. He was filled with the spi- 
rit of a martyr. His great courage, confidence 
in God, and contempt of death sustained him. 
God seemed to preserve him miraculously in 
the midst of this terrible plague, as he usually 
does his most useful and valuable servants. 
The priest took his way along towards the 
cemetery of Kilcreden beyond, and had two 
graves dug, one for Mr. and Mrs. Harmon, and 
the other for the stranger. This was quickly 
done, and without any signs of alarm. The 
reverend and generous clergyman then took a 
wagon himself to the barn of the Harmons, 
and had the three bodies wrapped in shroilds. 
He brought them unobserved to the grave- 
yard, and interred them himself, fearing to let 
others near, lest they might catch the infection. 
By his good nature and discretion he saved a 


Alice Harmon, 


95 


whole village from the awful effects of the 
cholera. He ordered the whole premises of 
the Ilarmons to be sprinkled with lime-water, 
and the barn and house to be whitewashed re- 
peatedly. He cheered all who seemed mourn- 
ful and dull, and bade them not to feel very 
much distressed at the terrible fate of the Har- 
mons. They had died well and sweetly in the 
Lord, full of hope and joy at the thought of a 
happy eternity. In this way he calmed their 
fears and checked the increase of the terrible 
malady. Prayers went up hour after hour to 
the throne of God for Father Virgilius from 
the hearts of his people. They knew that he 
loved them with a martyr’s love, and that he 
would die the most painful death to make 
them both glad and contented. He wondered 
what became of Harmon’s children. He fear- 
ed that they, too, had died victims to the aw- 
ful disease when he had searched for them in 
vain ; but some of the neighbors made this 
point all right when they told him that they 
’ had gone to' their uncle’s on the beach at Bal- 
lylander. 


96 


Alice Harmon. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A COTTAGE BY THE SEA. 

ATRICK and Alice attended George 
Marlow with the greatest repug- 
nance to the house of their uncle. 
Even amidst the terrors of death 
they thought it unholy, unkind, and cold to 
abandon their parents. George could not 
have succeeded in conducting them had he not 
been assisted by a few of the neighbors, who 
were obliged to make use of physical as well 
as moral exertions to draw them along. The 
news of the visit of the frightful cholera to the 
home of the Harmons drew numbers away 
from its immediate neighborhood. The panic 
crept through the village with electric speed, 
and every old fisherman was immediately as- 
sisted by his family in whitewashing his cabin 
inside and outside, and scattering lime all over 
his premises. George Marlow possessed great 
presence of mind in the midst of the raging ex- 
citement. He did not forget to send with 
great speed for Father Virgilius at Shanagarry, 
whilst he drew the two Harmons to their un- 
cle’s house. He remembered at this time that 
the goods contained in the house of the Har- 
mons should not be forgotten, but secured. 



Alice Harmon. 


97 

He resolved to see about this after he would 
lodge Alice and Patrick securely in the home 
of their relative. They soon reached Bally- 
lander and the house of Dan Harmon, who 
was both a fisherman and a farmer. The front 
of his dwelling looked forth on the broad and 
bright Atlantic. His exquisite taste for the 
clean and the beautiful was seen in the state 
of himself, his house, and his garden. His 
three children came to the door when their 
cousins approached, and welcomed them right 
joyfully. They looked fat and neat and rosy 
in their new and pretty dresses. They were 
not slow to show their charms to the sunshine 
and the neighbors. Everything about them 
and the premises looked beautifully orderly, 
A neat pathway ran down from their house to 
the spot where their boat was chained to a 
pole at the base of the cliff, a few dozen yards 
below. All about the place spoke of comfort. 
The cattle lowed in their neat stalls behind the 
dwelling-house. The geese and turkeys, the 
peacock and the other fowl, kept joyous com- 
pany in the farmyard, and acquainted stran- 
gers with their presence by their varied cries. 
The thatch on the cottage looked fancy and 
fresh, the walls neatly whitewashed, and 
adorned here and there by beautiful creepers, 
whilst the garden displayed, even at that time 
of the year, all the charms of a summer sea- 


Alice Harmon, 


98 

son. Dan Harmon kept a good table. Every- 
thing was plain, wholesome, and abundant. 
The same features distinguished the furniture. 
There was one room, opening on the sea^-view, 
especially curious and interesting. It deserv- 
ed the name of the “ old curiosity shop,” since 
almost every uncommon and strangely-shaped 
article found a place in it. There were seen 
portions of the uniform of Napoleon, such as 
he wore in the Austrian and Prussian cam- 
paigns ; there were goblets out of which the 
kings of England drank ; old swords and mus- 
kets that did capital execution in the battles 
of Jena and Waterloo ; there were old banjos 
and guitars that had been strung by master- 
hands in France and Germany ; there were 
birds of various lands, kept at one time by 
some princes of the East ; there were stuffed 
monkeys that were born lame and blind ; 
there were pictures that were courted centu- 
ries before in the galleries of Florence and the 
Vatican; there were coins peculiar to every 
land ; exotics of delicious odor, and several 
other rarities, each possessing charms peculiar 
to itself. These formed a collection which 
took many years to acquire. A question 
might arise concerning the genuine character 
of these several articles, which might pro- 
perly be decided by a more veracious au- 
thority than that of Daniel Harmon. In this 


Alice Harmon, 


99 

little spot Alice had spent many a happy 
hour in sweet conversation with her uncle, 
and in holy communion with God and her 
guardian angel. 


CHAPTER XX.. 

VISIT TO AN OLD COUNTRY GRAVEYARD. 

FT alone to her reflections, the men- 
tion of her parents’ sad and agonizing 
death came like the roar of an awful 
earthquake on the ears of a sleep- 
ing city to the heart of Alice Harmon. She 
could scarcely believe that those dear ones of 
her soul, lately so healthy and glad, were now 
cold in the tomb, sleeping the long, eternal 
rest of the departed. She repeatedly accused 
herself of cowardice, sin, and want of shame 
for leaving her beloved ones to die without 
bidding them one farewell. She sought again 
and again to persuade her uncle to let her 
visit the old home, that she might gaze upon 
those scenes and objects there so strongly cal- 
culated to remind her of her lost parents ; but 
old Dan was deaf to her entreaties, and ten- 
derly bade her remember that no good could 
come from such a sight, but sadness and dan- 
ger. She yielded respectfully to his maturer 




100 


Alice Harmon, 


judgment, and thanked God and the angel 
guardian, even in the midst of her anguish. 
She now felt that the smooth and hitherto un- 
interrupted tide of joy which flowed through 
the hearts of her family was broken for ever in 
this world ; still, she hoped that it would con- 
tinue to stream again ere long with eternal life 
and freshness in the land of her Saviour. One 
evening a few days later, when old Dan, with 
his family and his visitors, had taken supper, 
Alice begged of him, as a favor, with implor- 
ing and irresistible accents, that he would 
allow her to go next day with some of the 
family to visit the grave of her parents at Kil- 
creden cemetery. “ Surely, dear Alice,” said 
old Dan, “ I could not refuse you this request, 
since I think such a visit a duty which you 
owe to such fond and beloved parents.” 

“ Thanks, good uncle,” answered Alice. “ I 
shall never forget j^our kindness, and I am sure 
that the blessed souls of my father and mother 
in heaven will always remember you.” 

The following morning looked bright and 
fresh and lovely in the early spring-time, 
as it shone over the sea and the cot- 
tage and fields of Dan Harmon. Nature 
seemed possessed of a new life, as return- 
ing spring began to expand its lovely and 
wealthy resources. The waves of the ocean 
grew calmer, the grass greener, the seeds 


Alice Harmon. 


lOI 


which lay in the fields during the winter dis- 
played their development in the shape of fresh, 
beautiful blades, the plants showed their buds 
to the sunlight, and hill, rock, hedge, tree, 
garden, and glen looked youthful and bright 
to the sight of the people who saw them. 
Dan Harmon’s pony was soon brought forth, 
gaily caparisoned, and attached to a plain but 
neat little phaeton. Alice, George Marlow, 
Patrick, and Uncle Dan at once took posses- 
sion of it. They drove through Shanagarry 
and Garryroe on their way to Kilcreden grave- 
yard. They saw the cabins on the roadway 
abundantly coated with whitewash and lime, 
scattered around in all directions, to guard 
against the approach of the terrible cholera. 
The graveyard soon appeared to their view on 
the crest of a beautiful hill, with a Protestant 
church at one end of it, whose congregation 
on Sundays consisted of some of the family of 
the minister, a few of the local gentry, and the 
sexton. Weeping willows, alders, and some 
fir-trees giew over the graves of the departed. 
The joyful music of the birds presented a sin- 
gular contrast with the sad and solemn aspect 
of the cemetery. The rivulet in the little 
glen quite near, with the white ducks swim- 
ming and diving in its bosom, the rustic bridge, 
the cabins, with their whitewashed walls and 
smoky chimneys, the cows and pigs and don- 


102 


Alice Harmon. 


keys grazing on the roadside, and the dark- 
blue sea beyond, all formed a lovely scene on 
that fresh and fair spring morning. Alice 
entered the cemetery with the others, her face 
bedewed with tears. The sight of the graves 
and the gloomy church reminded her of death. 
She mourned, now in vain, over the fond ones 
that she had lost. Never more would their glad 
looks and voices delight her eyes and ears. 
The clay was fresh already on their grave, but 
the grass would soon grow upon it, and the 
wild flowers bloom above their dust. 

The memory of their goodness, unexpected 
death, and loss rushed to her soul, causing a 
well of terrible grief to spring up there. She 
tottered with the others to the grave ; she 
looked upon their faces, but she could not 
speak. She knelt at length, and prayed ; and in 
the deep silence of her fervent pleadings came 
glad, consoling hopes concerning those whom 
she had loved and lost. The other three 
prayed out loud, but Alice heard them not. 
Her soul was wandering far away in a brighter 
and a holier land. She knew that her parents 
did not die , without the sacraments, and, full 
of this knowledge, she was led to contemplate 
the glory and the gladness that succeed a 
happy death. She fancied she beheld her 
father and mother smiling upon her from on 
high, clad with immortal beauty, plunged in 


Alice Hannon. 


103 


peace and joy, and bidding her be silent, and 
not weep ; for they were saved, and would come 
to her in pleasant dreams, and pray for her 
continually before the throne of God. Crowds 
of visions and thoughts like these filled Alice’s 
mind, and made her swoon away into a holy 
trance. She did not hear the voice of her 
Uncle Dan bidding her arise, but she felt his 
touch when he had shaken her, and awoke 
with a smiling face and heart to tell them of 
her lovely, happy dream. They were all 
overjoyed at hearing it, and soon returned 
home, thanking the almighty God. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

TRIP TO CLOYNE, AND GLIMPSE OF AN IRISH 
PATRON. 

HE fifteenth of August was approach- 
ing, and it was the Feast of the 
Assumption of the Blessed Virgin 
in all Catholic churches. 

It was held in great honor in Ireland, be- 
cause the people gloried in the life and char- 
acter of the Blessed Virgin. She was the 
Mother of God, the lover of Ireland, the beau- 
tiful Queen of Heaven, and the Star of the 
Sea ; and why should not their hearts be drawn 



104 


Alice Harmon. 


to her with a singular affection ? On this day 
an annual patron was to be held in Whitewell, 
about eight miles from Ballylander ; so old 
Dan Harmon thought he would carry Alice 
and Patrick and George to see it. 

They started with the pony after hearing 
Mass in Churchtown Chapel that morning. 
In that little church they saw for the first 
time the exquisite images of the several sta- 
tions of the cross adorning the walls, having 
been suspended that week by Father Virgilius, 
assisted by a young student from Mount 
Mellery, who was a relative of his, and pos- 
sessed the same name. After driving past the 
picturesque and pretty village of Churchtown, 
they hurried along a country full of cornfields, 
orchards, gardens, and pleasant, green groves. 
The charming town of Cloyne soon caught 
their gaze. Its lofty and quaint round tower 
looked beautiful in the swelling light, as it 
reared its summit above the houses, gardens, 
and trees. Behind it lay the soft, woody 
lands belonging to Kilbree, and the hill of 
Ardaragh, with its grassy summit, on which 
the cattle grazed, looked bold and grand above 
more level scenes. They passed by green 
meadows which were watered by streams in 
which the ducks and geese were swimming and 
playing. As they entered the town, and gazed 
on the tower in all its extent, thoughts came 


Alice Harmon. 


105 

rushing on their minds about the times of the 
Danes. 

Strange stories were told of that tower. 
Several believed, amongst the old women, that 
its erection was due to the labors of St. Cole- 
man, who was the patron of Cloyne, and they 
attributed the incompleteness of the structure 
to the following incident : Whilst the saint 
was engaged one night in erecting the tower, 
an old woman looked out from a cabin be- 
neath, being attracted by the noise, and, seeing 
the great building with a man on the top of it, 
uttered a scream. St. Coleman, fearing that 
he would be discovered as the author of the 
work, let his trowel drop, and fled through the 
air for the distance of a mile, till at last he 
alighted upon a flag in a field near a stream, 
and on the face of that stone the image of his 
person is said to be seen to this time. How- 
ever strange and ridiculous this tale may ap- 
pear, yet several of the poor old peasantry 
around Cloyne believe it to-day. It is also 
asserted that the bells of the tower could be 
heard distinctly at a place called Kilva, about 
five miles from Cloyne, as long as the sister of 
the saint resided there ; but when that holy 
soul left it, their melody was never heard in 
that spot any more. At the top of the tower 
(one hundred and four feet high) George and 
Patrick beheld a magnificent prospect. The 


io6 Alice Harmon. 

town beneath looked lovely in the midst of 
trees. The ocean appeared afar, bounding 
and raging with its waves of delicious blue. 
Ballycotton Island, with its lovely light-house, 
stood peerless in its beauty near the distant 
shore. Castlemary, the seat of the Long- 
fields, appeared towards the northwest, with 
its wealth of gardens, trees, and lawns. Rostel- 
lan Castle, once the home of the Marquis of 
Thomand, lay near the bay that entered 
Queenstown, with its beautiful demesnes rais- 
ing their lofty oaks and elms to the glory of 
the sunlight. Each time George and Patrick 
gazed they fancied that the landscape swelled 
with fresh undulations of beauty. The glori- 
ous sun shone on town, garden, orchard, hill, 
ocean, vale, castle, and field, giving a fresh and 
grand effect to their separate charms. Look- 
ing down on the streets beneath them, they 
saw large numbers of horses and cars bearing 
people in several directions on to the patron. 
The blind led on by dogs, the lame supported 
by crutches, fiddlers, pipers, farmers, laborers, 
and individuals of every profession, were seen 
trudging along the sidewalks to the scene of 
the coming devotions. Joy shone on the faces 
of all, as the day Avas very fine, and as they 
expected to enjoy themselves. When Patrick 
and George came down from the tower, they 
joined their friends, and set out on their jour- 


Alice Harmon. 


107 


ney for Wliitewell. As they passed along, 
they saw great numbers of people, who came 
from miles on every side to make their devo- 
tional rounds at the scene of the patron. 
When our friends reached the spot, they be- 
held an immense concourse of people gathered 
in a large field where there were trees and a 
holy well. It had all the appearance of a fair 
or a race-course, except that at the beginning 
it possessed less excitement. Some were 
standing in- groups, talking in a moderate 
tone, others were kneeling and praying on the 
bare grass, several were standing alone looking 
curiously on, whilst many were engaged in 
selling fruit and other eatables from tables 
placed a little behind the principal scene. 
The blind and crippled and the ragged stood 
or sat in the field or by the roadside, begging 
from the pilgrims as they passed. They re- 
cited a long catalogue of prayers for those who 
assisted them, but they saluted those who re- 
fused to give them any aid with muttered 
oaths and curses. 

Soon after our friends arrived, nearly all on 
the field went round the blessed well and be- 
neath the trees, which were adorned with rib- 
bons of various colors, saying their prayers to 
the patron saint of the diocese, and chiefly 
honoring God and his Blessed Mother in their 
respective devotions. A profound silence sue- 


io8 


Alice Harmon. 


ceeded the recent hum of discourse which rang 
through the field. The hearts of those who 
knelt were raised up with holy, loving feelings 
to Jesus and Mary. The blind, and the lame, 
and the poor, and sad, and sick, hoped to be 
relieved of their various afflictions during that 
exercise of sanctity. When the devotions 
ended, the scene greatly changed. The most 
pious and enlightened of the pilgrims return- 
ed quietly home, but the rest turned their 
thoughts and hearts and footsteps to the 
tents and public-houses. They drank and 
danced and sang till past midnight ; and many 
amongst them found themselves laid up be- 
fore morning with blackened eyes, broken 
noses, and bloody faces. The thievish beggars 
plied their trades successfully. The pipers 
and fiddlers reaped a harvest in the tents and 
public-houses. Those who came to the patron, 
not from motives of virtue or piety, but with 
intentions of mischief, irreligion, and dishon- 
esty, acted like this ; but the good, holy souls 
who went on the pilgrimage returned home 
full of satisfaction, happiness, and content- 
ment. The Harmons were amongst these, and 
they drove back to Ballylander feeling better 
in mind and body and heart. 


Alice Harmon, 


109 


. CHAPTER XXII 

CHANGES. 

LD DAN HARMON did not fail 
to have the house and property of 
his brother guarded ever since the 
morning that it became untenanted. 
He had a faithful, hardy, daring laborer in the 
village to sleep within its walls, and to take 
charge of it ; but as Patrick and Alice would 
not consent to live in it any longer, he resolved 
to offer it for sale to the highest bidder. It 
was soon purchased at a reasonable cost, fur 
niture and all, by a friendly neighbor. The 
amount realized by the sale was quite enough 
to support and educate both Alice and Pat- 
rick respectably. Old Dan resolved, after con- 
sulting Father Virgilius, to send the first to 
Loretto Convent, and the last to St. Coleman’s 
College at Fermoy. The end of the following 
month of August was fixed for their departure. 
Alice was overjoyed at the news. In the 
height of the quiet and sanctity of a convent 
life she hoped to be able to gratify her love 
for study and devotion ; but Patrick received 
the intelligence with much less delight, as he 
was now going into manhood, and as his heart 
was filled with desires and hopes which could 




no 


Alice Harmon^ 


not be indulged within the College of St. 
Coleman’s. War had begun about this time 
between the Pope and the King of Sardinia. 
The wolfish, impious cravings of Victor Ema- 
nuel would not, in reality, be satisfied with any- 
thing less than a full surrender to him of the 
whole Papal territory, which was justly acquir- 
ed and possessed by the pontiffs for so many 
ages. The lovers of justice and truth all over 
the world sympathized sincerely with our in- 
sulted Holy P'ather. In Ireland especially 
he found voices and hearts and hands eager 
to speak for, to love, and assist him. A spirit 
of wild enthusiasm filled the land in his favor. 
The poorest amongst the poor gave some 
money to aid him ; young, handsome, strong, 
rich, and poor men gathered together from 
every county to form an Irish brigade for the 
service of the Holy Father. 

A knowledge of the cause and the songs of 
the ballad-singers through the streets, awak- 
ening to action, filled the heart of Patrick with 
the feelings of an earnest volunteer. 

One evening in May Patrick was missed 
from the house by the rest of the family. 
Old Dan and George Marlow went to the 
village in search of him, but could not find 
any information concerning his whereabouts ; 
yet, on returning home, one of the neighbors 
told them that he had met Patrick riding in a 


Alice Harmon. 


1 1 1 

car with some strangers towards Castlemar- 
tyr about noon that day. Old Dan hoped 
that his nephew would stay with his friends in 
that town on that night, and determined to 
go after him next morning ; but he was too 
late, as he was told, after his arrival in Castle- 
martyr next day, that Patrick had started for 
Queenstown on the previous evening to em- 
bark with some other young men to form a 
part of the Irish brigade for the Papal army. 
This news did not grieve the old man after 
some consideration, because he admired the 
holy cause, and was willing to sacrifice his own 
as well as his nephew’s life to help to sustain 
it ; still, he feared for the young man, on account 
of his impetuous nature and his inexperience. 
He returned home to console the family, and 
make them all pray for the success of Patrick. 
They abandoned all hope of hearing from him 
very soon. Meanwhile, the months passed 
along till August came, whilst the country was 
plunged in a wonderful state of excitement. 
All interested hearts were full of suspense, 
watching continually for the result of the 
various engagements which were in the end 
to decide the fate of either army. 


II2 


Alice Harmon, 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

LORETTO CONVENT. 

HE morning at last arrived on which 
Alice Harmon was to set out from 
her uncle’s home to Loretto Coii- 
vent. She welcomed it with joy, 
because it was to bring her to a place which 
she loved very dearly ; still, she felt a natural 
regret at leaving the family of her uncle and 
the scenes of her childhood. The parting 
between herself and George Marlow was touch- 
ing and tender. He loved her with a brother’s 
love, and, if both their holy vocations had not, 
as it were, been suggested to them, they would 
probably have become for ever united ; but 
now each resolved to tread that separate path 
which Almighty God seemed to point out to 
them. Alice was going to the convent, and 
George was to start in a few days for the New 
Continent to enter college there and become 
a priest. They expressed their hopes of meet- 
ing again, and promised to pray for each other. 
Alice, accompanied by her uncle, reached 
P'ermoy after journeying for some time by 
wagon and train, about five o’clock on an Au- 
gust evening. The freshness of summer had 
not yet forsaken the neighboring scenery. 



Alic^ Harmon. 


113 

That lovely town was bathed by the waves of 
the sweet Blackwater, called, from its beauty, 
the Irish Rhine. It had its convent, college, 
churches, and exquisite houses. The richness 
and beauty of the country around it gave to 
its aspect an especial charm. Its people look- 
ed lively and healthy, and, as the travellers 
were entering, they were delighted to see the 
youths of the town playing in the green mea- 
dows, and some older ones of both sexes enjoy- 
ing a delicious, cool walk by the banks of the 
charming Blackwater. The scenery which 
Alice beheld breathed a spirit of peace, tran- 
quillity, and innocent joy which she hoped to 
see increased within the walls of the convent. 
After a few minutes’ walk, the two travellers 
reached that sacred asylum. It was situated 
in a beautiful, respectable locality not far away 
from the Catholic church and college. Its ex- 
terior and interior favorably impressed both of 
the Harmons. All within spoke of peace and 
sanctity. The scrupulous cleanliness of the 
place imaged, indeed, the purity of the souls of 
those who occupied it. As they entered, they 
heard the bell ringing for the Angelus ; and 
its clear, sweet tones, filling the air, seemed to 
announce good tidings, and to say that love 
and sanctity were here united. The good reve- 
rend mother received our friends with loving 
kindness, and felt delighted at hearing the rea- 


Alice Harmon. 


114 

son of their visit. She expressed herself highly- 
pleased with the appearance of Alice, and de- 
clared that she entertained great hopes in her 
favor. As it was now rather late and near the 
time at which the nuns commonly retired, old 
Harmon and his niece took their leave, and 
promised to call the next morning. 

After sleeping in the house of a friend that 
night, they went to the convent next day 
at the hour they mentioned. The reverend 
mother introduced them to most of the nuns, 
and showed them their rooms and schools, and 
the rest of the building, all very handsome 
and orderly. They were then conducted to 
the chapel, which looked indeed a gem, grace- 
fully and exquisitely adorned for the dwelling 
of our Saviour. Alice perceived in this the 
temple indeed of peace and love and glory. 
No other portion of the convent kindled in 
her soul such a spirit of admiration and glad- 
ness. There was the handsome altar before 
her, on which the Immaculate and Eternal 
Lamb was daily slain. There was the rich 
and lovely tabernacle that contained the King 
of kings. There were the flowers, lights, 
silks, and gilt, faint shadows of his splendor 
and beauty. The lovely paintings on the 
walls, the pews and the rest of the furniture, 
all silently expressed a deep and powerful 
meaning. Whilst within, Alice felt herself 


Alice Harmon. 


115 

quite close to the spirit of God. A sweet and 
holy feeling possessed her. She fancied her- 
self in the midst of the Sanctum Sanctorum. 
She thought she heard the sounds of angels 
praising God. She fancied she saw the glori- 
fied humanity of our Blessed Redeemer shin- 
ing brighter than a million suns, the luminous 
form of the Blessed Virgin and her angel 
guardian, with the spirits of the saints, giving 
life to their images, and the souls of many go- 
ing from earth, saved by the blood of Jesus, 
into the halls and the fields of Paradise. She 
would have lingered and thought for the 
whole day in that sweet chapel had not the 
reverend mother asked her to enter the dwel- 
ling-house. Here that lady made arrange- 
ments with old Harmon concerning the cost 
of Alice’s tuition and board per annum in the 
convent. She promised to teach her poetry, 
music, rhetoric, drawing, and the other useful 
and beautiful sciences. After this agreement, 
old Dan departed, having placed his niece in 
safe keeping with the nuns of Loretto Con- 
vent, where we shall leave her for some time, 
advancing in sanctity and learning, and go to 
find out what became of George Marlow. 


ii6 


Alice Hctrinon, 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

VOYAGE TO NEW YORK. 

N the fourth day after Alice Har- 
mon’s departure from Ballylander 
for Loretto Convent, George Mar- 
low, accompanied by old Dan, set 
out for Queenstown to embark from that port 
in a steamship of the Inman Line for the city 
of New York. Having already exchanged 
his check for gold in the Bank of Ireland, 
Cork, and also procured a berth in the steam- 
ship City of , he had nothing to do, after 

his arrival at Queenstown, but to go on board 
the boat. This was to sail from the harbor 
about an hour after their arrival. Old Dan 
went on the tender, and, after seeing George 
Marlow safely fixed on board the steamboat, 
bade him farewell with kisses and tears of re- 
gret and love, and then returned to shore. The 
harbor slept in tranquil beauty. The blue 
waves murmured musically against the sides 
of the ships around them. The town of 
Queenstown, on a lovely hill, with street above 
street, looked enchanting and bright in the 
sunshine with the waters, ships, isles, woods, 
villas, and fields before and behind it. The 
convicts were working hard on Spike Island. 



Alice Harmon. 


117 


The sailors were scaling the ladders and sing- 
ing in the vessels around them. The music of 
a brass band suddenly burst with a joyous 
power from the grand promenade beyond, and 
the passengers paused with intense delight to 
listen to the strains, and to gaze on the land- 
scape’s wonderful beauty. George proceeded, 
immediately after parting with old Harmon, to 
get his luggage into order and to secure his 
stateroom. He found that the last contained 
two berths, and that his companion was a 
Catholic German gentleman who was return- 
ing to New York after a visit to the old 
country. This discovery delighted Marlow. 
When he put all things in order, he went on 
deck, accompanied by his new acquaintance, 
and gazed with interested eye upon the ex- 
citing movements of the Irish emigrants 
who left Queenstown, and were going to 
occupy the steerage on their voyage to New 
York. When the stewards and sailors carried 
their trunks and boxes down to the hatchway, 
they stood with tears in their eyes and wring- 
ing hands, gazing with deep-felt sorrow on the 
receding figures of their friends in the tender 
who were going to shore, and whom they 
might never again behold. The memory of 
their homes and families, of the green fields, 
valleys, groves, and other scenes of beauty 
that they liked so well, rushed on them now. 


118 


Alice Hannon, 


making them feel indeed that absence makes 
the heart grow fonder of those things we love.” 
But then, again, they were delighted at the 
thought of the benefits which the exercise of 
virtue, truth, and industry would gain for 
them in the new country. This considera- 
tion gave them hope, and checked the current 
of their tears. “ Never mind, Biddy,” said a 
tall, stalwart young man to a sweet, modest 
maiden beside him — “nevermind, Biddy; we 
will soon be makin’ the dollars, plase God, 
have a nice home, and bring father and mother 
out to live and die dacently in the midst of us.” 

“ Yis, thank goodness, James,” replied the 
female ; “ and perhaps some of us would be 
cornin’ across in a few years to bring them 
over, after sindin’ money beforehand, as the 
trip across the say is made very fast, and is 
thought nothin’ of these times.” With such 
reflections as these the emigrants consoled 
themselves, and feasted their eyes with ex- 
cess of mournful joy, whilst they had time, on 
the lovely shores of their native land. 

By this time the steamboat had passed 
the old Head of Kinsale, and the view of Erin 
became less distinct ; George bade a fond good- 
by to that land where he had been received so 
hospitably and kindly, and thought with joy 
and gratitude of the brave, good hearts of its 
people, whom he loved so well. 


Alice Harmo7i. 


1 19 

He now turned his eyes to the blue sky 
above, to the vast, billowy sea, and to the pas- 
sengers on the steamboat. 

He recognized men of many nations gathered 
there ; there was the German, mingling with 
some of his countrymen, smoking his long pipe, 
and talking about Vaterland and lager-beer. 
There was the dark young Italian, with sharp, 
black eyes and reserved demeanor. He saw 
Poles and Swedes and French mingling side by 
side ; John Bull was there, devouring, with great 
satisfaction, a portion of a sweet mince-pie ; and 
Pat, the Irishman, appeared in all his drollery and 
simplicity, smoking a clay pipe and pigtail on 
the steerage-deck beyond, filling the ears and 
hearts of his listeners with bright words and 
hopes concerning the new country. As the 
steamer advanced on the sea, the breeze came 
fuller and stronger into the lungs of the voy- 
agers. George welcomed with joy this glorious 
and healthy life on the waves. He looked 
around, and saw the same feelings of joy ex- 
pressed in the passengers’ faces. Some were 
singing, others dancing, many reading and talk- 
ing, several engaged in various innocent games, 
whilst a few sat still and silent, gazing abstract- 
edly over the surface of the great ocean. 
Moonlight came, and the waves rose higher, and 
the stars looked out from the blue sky on the 
face of the lovely sea. George looked with 


120 


Alice Haruiojz. 


rapture on the grand expanse of scene above 
and around him, and felt indeed the immensity 
of God reflected in the mighty objects that he 
saw. The wind blew calmly, the lamps on the 
steamer gleamed over the sea, the music of a 
violin stole through the breeze that played with 
the ropes and sails, and sounds of mirth and 
joy came from the cabin beneath up to the 
deck on which Marlow was seated. Passengers 
in the grand saloons seemed to forget the dan- 
gers outside them in the height of their joy ; 
they ate, drank, sang, and watched with inter- 
est the various tragedies, farces, and comedies 
which were several times enacted by the clev- 
erest of those on board. They did not consider 
that in a single instant the shell in which they 
were enclosed might be crushed to pieces, and 
buried with themselves for ever beneath the 
dark, surging sea. They feasted elegantly, and 
seemed to think of nothing else at the time 
but the gratification of their senses. Marlow 
turned away with disgust from the sickly, effem- 
inate scenes he beheld, and listened with de- 
light to the beautiful but mournful songs of the 
sailors hauling the ropes. He walked down to 
the steerage to see creatures huddled together 
indiscriminately, some falling on the slippery 
decks, others seasick and reclining on 
their miserable berths, many cursing, 
swearing, rowing together, and fighting 


Alice Harmon. 


I2I 


with the stewards, whilst others bore their 
ills with patience, and strove to pass the 
time along with music, games, and interesting 
stories. The morning of the second day was 
disturbed by a tragic deed. A dispute arose 
between a steerage passenger and one of the 
crew ; the sailor, heated with grog, drew out 
his knife, stabbed the man before any one could 
interfere, and then pitched him overboard. 
The outcry and the crime brought all around. 
The culprit raved and kicked, and threatened 
to kill whoever would approach him. He was 
seized at length by some of the crew, and pu<t 
in irons till his arrival in New York, where he 
was to be tried by the command of the captain. 

On the same day a man discovered his own 
wife, who had eloped with another about two 
years before, carrying now an infant at her 
bosom. Inflamed with rage and madness at 
her deceit and guilt, he made a brutal assault 
upon her, wrested the babe from her breast, 
and threw it into the ocean. Horror and alarm 
seized the passengers. They screamed aloud, 
and, as the wind blew stronger and the vessel 
rocked more violently, they feared that God’s 
vengeance had settled on the steamer, and that 
they were sinking. The infuriated husband 
was at once seized and put in irons. His false 
wife was attended to, and tranquillity in the 
vessel was soon restored. After twelve days 


122 


Alice Harmon, 


pleasant sailing, the steamer reached New 
York. The morning was a little misty when 
the vessel entered the harbor, but the scenery, 
though somewhat obscure, looked very lovely. 
The passengers, after passing the two noble 
and beautiful forts that guard the entrance 
to the harbor, saw on one side Staten Island, 
like an enchanted isle, rising out of the middle 
of the deep, with its woods and gardens and 
villas veiled by the silvery mist of the morning. 
On the other they perceived Long Island, wrapt 
in heavier shadows, with its fields and trees 
and beautiful houses. The harbor was filled 
with vessels and beautiful steamboats, such as 
George now beheld for the first time. They 
seemed to him like elegant floating villas, they 
were so large, so peculiarly shaped, and were 
so full of beautiful windows. He felt himself, 
indeed, like one going into a new land. All 
around him expressed life and action. The 
boats whistled, the bells rung, the foundries 
an‘d factories sent up their clouds of smoke, 
and the gay little steamboats that passed 
in such numbers seemed to give to the 
scene an air of delightful excitement. The 
cities of New York and Brooklyn caught 
the eyes of the voyagers. Their immense 
size, the beauty of their situation, the vast 
quantity of water that washed their quays, 
and the number of trees that adorned them. 


Alice Hannon. 


123 


gave to their appearance a singular attraction 
and interest. The Castle Garden, so well 
known to emigrants, soon appeared in front, 
half shrouded by the mist of the morning. 
Here George first rested after disembarking, 
where he offered up thanks to God for his safe 
arrival on the American shore. The richness, 
vastness, activity, and beauty of everything 
around at once enchained him ; but he felt 
alone, even in the height of crowds, and this 
feeling grieved him. He repaired at once to 
the Astor House, where he dined and looked 
over the city directory. After learning from 
this the names of the pastors of several Ca- 
tholic churches, he resolved to visit one 
amongst them who was known by his breth- 
ren in the cloth and by the people to be a 
clergyman of wonderful wisdom, liberality, 
and kindness. The venerable and corpulent 
pastor to whom George repaired received 
him gladly, expressed himself well pleased 
with his appearance and intentions, and pro- 
mised to do his very best to advance him. 
Irish blood ran in that pastor’s veins. A 
life of sanctity gave to his face a sacred and 
beloved appearance, whilst a taste for exer- 
cise and an amiable temper, with a regular 
mode of existence, imparted to his cheeks an 
enviable blush, and to his body sound health 
and an exquisite symmetry. 


124 


Alice Harmon. 


When George declared his desire to become 

a Dominican, Father felt pleased that the 

heart of the convert was turned to such an 
excellent order. He promised to introduce 
him next day to the father-superior, and in 
the afternoon offered to give him a ride through 
the splendid metropolis. George felt overjoyed 
at the proposal, and most willingly accepted it. 
In his ride he gazed with delight and wonder 
on the beautiful buildings, the numerous stages, 
and the quick and intelligent citizens that ap- 
peared upon Broadway. Stewart’s vast stores, 
the Fifth Avenue palaces, and the Central Park 
made him quite enthusiastic over the glory, 
genius, and wealth of the noble Republic. He 
was quite delighted with the varied and en- 
chanting scenes on Manhattan Island. After 
his drive, he slept soundly that night, and went 
with his friend, the pastor, next day to the house 
of the Dominicans, where he was well received 
with his excellent recommendations and the 
amount he possessed in gold, which he entirely 
yielded to the good superior, in opposition to 
the wish of that reverend and venerable gen- 
tleman. Here he remained, studying and being 
loved, every day advancing in the service and 
knowledge of God, till the time of his promo- 
tion to the priesthood came. There we shall 
leave him now till we look at him again, and 
turn our eyes at once to the fortune of Patrick 
Harmon. 


Alice Harmon* 


125 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE IRISH BRIGADE IN ITALY. 

RELAND has furnished three famous 
brigades that fought in foreign ser- 
vice. To France, Italy, and the 
United States belongs the glory of 
their achievements. At all times they fought 
on the side of right and freedom. Though 
the cause for which the brigade in Italy bled 
was the least successful, still it was of all the 
most glorious. They went to that sunny land 
as the ancient Crusaders advanced to Jerusalem, 
full of the same spirit of zeal, Christian love, 
and devotion. Like them, they failed, in a 
military sense, because God willed it. The 
Most High desired that his church should 
suffer more because he loved her, and because 
he knew that she would be purer in the height 
of affliction ; so he let the tyrant triumph in a 
temporary way till the coming of the day of 
retribution. 

Patrick Harmon stood, a youth of eighteen 
years, handsome and tall, though stern and dark- 
looking, on the deck of the Kitty-go-Swift on 
the day after his departure from the home of 
his. uncle. He was not alone on board, as the 
deck had a crowd of strong and brave young 



126 


Alice Hannon. 


men, proud of their expedition and the cause 
of it. Some of the friends of those who were 
going away came to Queenstown to see them 
setting out on their holy journey. The land 
and water scene trembled in the light of the 
morning. When the shaking of hands, shed- 
ding of tears, expressions of mutual love, and 
waving of handkerchiefs ended, the Kitty-go- 
Swift left the harbor with swelling sails, bless- 
ed by the friends of the voyagers. It was 
bound for Bristol, and the captain assured 
those on board that they would reach there on 
the third morning following. The rough billows 
of the Channel made the Kitty-go-Swift dance 
on their crest like a kite in the fickle air. But 
she braved their fury, and rode upon them with 
magic speed, gaining Bristol at the hour that 
her captain stated. The young men were 
full of hope and love and real good-will on 
their journey. In the city of Bristol they met 
the other young Irishmen, who joined them. 
From this they proceeded to London over 
a delightful, flowery country. After leaving 
the metropolis of the world, they started for 
Dover, thence for Belgium, and along the Con- 
tinent till they reached Rome. Here they 
were joyously and thankfully received by the 
Papal authorities. They understood that 
others were following them from the old land, 
and were informed that the brigade would not 


Alice Hannon. 


127 


be organized till the full number came. Pat- 
rick had not yet recovered from the feelings 
of surprise, delight, and admiration which the 
scenes through which he lately journeyed 
had inspired him. He now saw for the first 
time the city of Rome, about which he had 
heard so much ; but it did not look to him like 
the great capital of the Caesars. The monu- 
ments of their ambition and grandeur had 
crumbled into ruins, and those noble remains 
were associated in his mind with deeds of 
infidelity, tyranny, and violence. The Coli- 
seum, though noble and majestic as a work of 
ait, even in its ruins, seemed red and frightful 
to his moral gaze. He thought he saw the 
spirits of the saintly murdered dead rising 
above its walls, and the souls of those who 
did the deeds of blood tormented by the de- 
mons. He turned from this, and viewed again 
the grand and massive temple of St. Peter’s. 
Its lofty, splendid cross spoke volumes to his 
mind of truth triumphant and error subdued. 
He looked towards the Vatican, where the 
Vicar of Christ resided, and felt that the 
promise of Jesus to his church was indeed 
fulfilled. He felt for that saintly Pontiff, ad- 
mired his heroic patience, and thirsted to shed 
for him every drop of his blood. Oh ! could 
he but see him, even for a moment, get his 
apostolic blessing, and kiss his ring. If so, 


128 


Alice Harmon. 


then the fondest wishes of his heart would in- 
deed be realized. And it was the will of God 
that this desire should be granted to Patrick 
before he took to the field in the service of 
his Lord and Saviour. The Pontiff welcomed 
all the Irishmen in the city who had come 
from home to fight for him. He saw them, 
blessed them, and almost shed tears of gratitude 
and joy when he viewed their stalwart forms, 
when he knew their grand self-sacrifices, and 
when he thought of the intense, undying love 
they had for their religion and their country. 
Fortified by his kind words of love and wel- 
come, they were full of courage and joy, and 
longed for the day to come that would see for 
the first time their bayonets red with the blood 
of those who insulted and sought to rob our 
Holy Father. Soon after this the Irish brigade 
was formed, and it had amongst its officers the 
clever and daring and brave Myles O’Reilly. 
Need we speak of him now ? Sure his name 
was always loved by all the men for his valor 
and his daring. We leave it to better pens than 
ours to pronounce his eulogy, and shall only 
remark that his name will live for ever in the 
heart of every loyal and generous Irishman. 
The brigade left Rome with God’s, the Pope’s, 
the priests’, and the people’s benediction. They 
passed through the sunny fields of fair Italy, and 
Patrick saw, as he went along, the lovely orange- 


Alice Harmon. 


129 


groves, trees, hills, gardens, lakes, villas, and 
skies he had heard so much about. It would 
take too long a time now to follow that gallant 
band through every changing scene, and to speak 
of their splendid deeds. In almost every engage- 
ment with the enemy, even when they had to 
fight one against six, they were highly victo- 
rious. They always rushed with lion hearts 
into the thickest of the combat. Ancona, 
Spoleto, and Castel Fidardo bring back the 
memory of their noble deeds. Patrick was a 
general favorite with the men, and every day 
gave fresh proofs of his bravery. The good 
hearts of his countrymen never appeared to him 
so clearly. He viewed their kindness towards 
the vanquished enemy, their regard for the 
peasantry, their love for order and obedience, 
their deep devotion and affection for reli- 
gion and each other. He saw some of their 
number cut down, and the deep-felt grief of 
the rest, who took their bodies, when the en- 
emy left the field, and interred them. He 
heard them speak to one another about home 
with love and sadness. “ Perhaps,” they said, 
“ we shall never see it more ; but, if so, God’s 
will be done, and we hope to go to a better 
country.” Though their clothes and bodies suf- 
fered much from their long battles and march- 
es,- still they never lost their courage, their 
bright hones in the Pope’s success, and their 


130 Alice Harmon, 

good-humor ; but on the day when the Italian 
forces, overcome by degrees by overwhelming 
numbers, were forced to yield at last to the 
army of Victor Emanuel, the little remnant 
of the Irish brigade returned to Rome with 
downcast hearts, attended by their commander. 
The war was soon concluded, and the tiger for 
that time satisfied with the flesh which he had 
taken for himself and his raging cubs. The 
rest of the brigade returned to Ireland with the 
blessings, prayers, and love of the Holy Father. 
After reaching Queenstown, they were received 
with praise and joy by their fellow-countrymen. 
A banquet was held in Cork in honor of them, 
and toasts proposed to the health and long 
life of the Pope, the remainder of the brave 
brigade. Captain Coppinger, and Major O’ Reilly. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

BROTHER AND SISTER. 

^^HEREVER Patrick Harmon was seen 
he was honored and praised. The 
F/ sweet air of Italy and the action of 
^-^^1 warfare gave to his looks an increas- 
ing attraction. His dark, curly hair, bright 
black eyes, well-shaped figure, and the ex- 
pression of manly feeling that shone on his face, 
made him an object of special admiration. The 


Alice Harmon. 


131 

day after his arrival in Cork his first resolution 
v/as to purchase a new suit of clothes, and go 
to Loretto Convent to see his sister. He de- 
termined to bring her to his uncle’s for some 
time, where they might enjoy together a de- 
lightful and uninterrupted conversation. Pat- 
rick knocked at the gate of the charming 
convent about four o’clock in the afternoon of 
that day. When the good nun heard that he 
was Alice’s brother, and that he had served in 
the Irish brigade, her admiration, joy, and grat- 
itude became unbounded. She bade Patrick be 
seated, and flew with great rapidity to inform his 
sister and the rest of the nuns about his arrival. 
Need we describe the transports of joy that 
seized brother and sister at that interesting 
meeting? One should have seen them to 
appreciate sufficiently the ardor of love that 
exists between a fond brother and sister. Each 
seemed to the other changed for the better. 
Patrick appeared to Alice a nobler and a man- 
lier youth. His holy services seemed to her to 
have imparted to his appearance a more saintly 
aspect. The excellence of his feelings shone 
more externally than ever before. Then he 
was sweet and gay and free, and fuller of smiles 
and looks of love than ever she saw him before. 
He thanked Alice for her prayers, and attri- 
buted to them the fact of his escape from death 
or imprisonment. He remarked that he often 


132 


Alice Hannon. 


thought of her whilst he was on the battle-field, 
swimming in blood, looking up to heaven with 
raised hands in the chapel of her quiet convent, 
imploring God to guard and save the brother 
that she loved. As Patrick spoke like this, his 
tears began to flow, and this feeling sight made 
the crystal streams run down from the eyes of 
Alice. This expression of her emotion gave to her 
person a more touching beauty. Now she was 
over sixteen, in all the bloom of maidenhood. 
The natural modesty of her looks received an 
increase during her stay in the convent. The 
knowledge that she acquired within its walls 
gave a more intelligent expression to her pale 
but polished and lovely chiselled features. The 
frequency of her devotions gave to her looks that 
expression of resignation and Christian tender- 
ness which is so perfectly in keeping with the 
character of God’s saints. The lustre of her 
eyes looked milder than when Patrick last saw 
her. Her whole appearance spoke of a heart 
full of purity, tenderness, peace, the love of 
God, of her neighbor, and the sweetest good- 
humor. Patrick drank in all this with a thirsty 
soul, and thanked God from his heart that he 
was pleased to consecrate to his service such 
a pure, pious virgin. Each read the thoughts 
that were passing in the other’s soul, and 
they were drawn still nearer to each other by 
a golden chain of love that would never be 


A/icc Harjiion, 


33 


broken. How pure, how saintly, how divine 
were these feelings ! At any moment each was 
ready to sacrifice the other to do the will of 
God. It was this spirit of disinterestedness 
that gave such beauty to the character of their 
love. The nuns perceived that this was the 
case, and regarded the brother and sister with 
increased admiration. They heard with sorrow 
that Patrick was going to take away for some 
time from amongst them Alice, the gem and 
the star and the joy of their convent ; but they 
were glad to know that she was about to return 
again ere long. 

They had the prayers and blessings of the 
good nuns on their departure, and on the eve- 
ning of the following day they found themselves 
in the old curiosity-shop of old Dan Harmon, 
after giving himself and his family a sweet 
surprise by their unexpected arrival. Old Dan 
was just after returning from Cork, where he 
went to look after Patrick, and to welcome 
him back again to his native home. His heart 
swelled with joy, and he gave thanks to the 
Lord when he beheld his niece and nephew 
again after their long absence. He recognized 
their change for the better, and he was proud 
of it. Pie killed the fatted calf, and made 
great rejoicings over their arrival. The neigh- 
bors were invited, and were overjoyed to see 
the bouchil who had fought so well in the 


134 


Alice Harmon. 


service of his church and the Holy Father. 
They were all delightfully entertained by his 
descriptions of the several engagements and ad- 
ventures through which he had passed, and the 
whole surrounding country soon rang with his 
praises. The uniform that he brought, to- 
gether with his other accoutrements, helped 
to enlarge the wonderful stock of old Dan’s 
curiosity-shop. 


CHAPTER XXVH. 

A VISIT TO MOUNT MELLARY. 

FTER a month had passed in Bal- 
lylander, Alice returned to Loretto 
Convent, whilst Patrick continued 
in his uncle’s home, assisting him in 
the management of his farm. Almost six 
months flew on in this manner, when Patrick 
at last got tired of his condition, and resolved, 
in spite of his uncle’s wishes, to go to the United 
States and enter the Federal army. War was 
proclaimed a short time before between the 
North and South, touching the question of se- 
cession and slavery, and Patrick thought that he 
would ally himself again on the side of freedom. 
He courted a military life. In the middle of 
war he felt in the height of his glory. He felt 



Alice Harmon. 


135 

that a wide field now opened itself for the 
gratification of his ambition ; so he thought he 
would enter it. Now, it was the summer- 
time, and Alice came home to Ballylander to 
spend her vacation. She was now quite ac- 
complished, and lovelier than ever. Her idea 
was to become a novice soon, and to take the 
veil when the time came that saw her fit for it. 
She tried to argue with her brother, and pre- 
vent him from going to America ; but she could 
not bend his will on this occasion. She loved 
him so dearly that she could not bear to sleep 
beneath a sky that did not look down on both 
of them at the same time. When she found 
that he was so immovable on that point, the 
thought occurred to herself of going along with 
him to New York, and becoming a Sister of 
Charity. A divine voice seemed to tell her 
that her services in that character would be 
needed for the dying in the battle-field and 
the hospitals ; so she cherished it as a great 
grace, and resolved to put it into immediate 
execution. 

It was agreed that brother and sister would 
start for New York in two weeks’ time. Old 
Dan gave them up to God, gave them all the 
money that belonged to them, and more be- 
sides out of his own pocket-book. He rer 
quested them, before they left for New York, 
to pay a visit to the Abbey of Mount Mel- 


Alice Harmon. 


136 

lary, and get the prayers and blessings of 
the good monks prior to their departure. 
This proposal seemed both religious and 
charming to the brother and sister, so they got 
ready to start for that spot early next morning. 
After arriving at Youghal, they went on board 
the steamer Fairy^ which adorned the dock in 
which it rested and the bay around it. Its 
decks were thronged with passengers, as there 
was a general excursion, and as the day was 
so bright and lovely. The captain, a tall, 
mild, and fair-looking man, put all things in 
order, and soon the pretty steamboat started, 
splitting the waves, and adding by the noise 
of her paddle-wheels to the melody of the Ger- 
man brass band which played on board. The 
Fairy soon shot into the Blackwater, and the 
glory of the silvery surface of that river was 
beautiful to see. The placid woods on either 
side, the hills clad with shrubbery, the sweet, 
grassy vales, the sedges, villas, and gardens 
that the passengers beheld, lent an enchanting 
aspect to that beautiful Blackwater. The sun 
that shone on the rivers and fields of Ireland 
had a mellowness about it that intoxicated the 
senses, and the passengers on the boat enjoyed 
the warmth and the delicious breeze, whilst 
their eyes and ears drank in the beauty of the 
scene and the music of the birds and German 
band that filled the air around them. Stran- 


Alice Harmon. 


137 


kally Castle, the home of Moor Smith, burst 
on their gaze. It looked like a fairy palace on 
the edge of the river, with the sun lighting up 
its windows, and the trees at hand casting 
partial shadows around it. After passing this, 
they beheld more open scenes of meadows, 
orchards, and corn-fields exhibiting their riches 
to the sunshine. Lord Steward’s castle rested 
on a mighty rock that beetled over the river 
some distance onward, and the sylvan splendor 
of the scenes around it drew frequent ex- 
clamations of satisfaction, admiration, and de- 
light from the lips of the passengers. After 
some pleasant sailing, the lovely town of 
Cappoquin appeared, bathed by the waves of 
the sweet Blackwater. The Knockmeldown 
Mountains arose in the background, and in 
right royal splendor, tipped on their summits 
by the beams of the sunlight. Villas, de- 
mesnes, roads, woods, and fields gave a charm 
to Cappoquin, which was the centre of their 
beauty. 

After disembarking from the steamboat, 
Alice and Patrick hired a jaunting-car, and or- 
dered the driver to conduct them to Mount 
Mellary. He cracked his whip with joy, bade 
his horse begone, and soon brought his passen- 
gers out of the town along a charming road 
that was adorned on one side by a deep, pic- 
turesque glen and a stream that came down 


Alice Hannon. 


138 

from the mountain. “ Lady and gintleman,” 
said the loquacious driver, “ you are going to 
the grandest and finest spot in the whole of 
ould Ireland. ’Tis there you will see the holy 
monks that feed all the poor round the coun- 
thry ; ’tis there you’ll see the fine bread and 
praties made and grown by themselves, and 
the fields that look like kitchen gardens in the 
midst of the quagmires and mountains. Sure 
we all love them, they are so good and such a 
blessin’ to the counthry.” The innocent and 
truthful cabman continued to talk like this till 
he brought Patrick and Alice on the top of a 
hill that looked on the abbey and mountains. 
The monaster}^ appeared to them indeed as the 
driver had briefly described it. There it lay in 
the midst of groves and gardens and richly- 
cultivated fields, looking twice more beautiful 
by contrast with the rugged hills, sterile glens, 
tracts of heather,and mountains around it. They 
passed by Healy’s Wood, through which a river 
wandered by lovely rural scenes, where the 
wild flowers, raspberries, and hurtleberries grew 
side by side. The driver told them that that 
spot was very well known to the students of 
the abbey seminary. Now the rugged aspect 
of the mountains appeared to them in all its 
beauty. The houses of the mountaineers looked 
white and lovely, as well owing to the wild 
grandeur of their situation as to the splendor 


Alice Harmon. 


139 


of the sunshine that enlightened them. In a 
few minutes they reached the abbey lodge, 
after passing Miss Walshe’s boarding-house, 
where some students resided. The aspect of 
the abbey leading to the monastery gave them 
a correct idea of its inward peace, it looked 
so silent and so lovely, with the sun shining 
through the trees on each side of it. As they 
went along, they met some of the good monks 
working in the fields. Their habits were of 
thick brown cloth, and tightened at the waist by 
a girdle of the same material. They work away 
in silence, thinking of nothing but God and 
their duty. Though eating but about a meal 
and a half a day, they looked fleshy, and red, 
and strong, and contented. They lived with 
even more simplicity than the shepherds long 
ago, and seemed to enjoy far better spirits and 
health than they did. When our travellers saw 
the abbey and the monks, and heard the sound 
of the bells, they felt that they were moving 
upon holy ground. They observed the beau- 
tiful school-hall, with its lovely green, the 
large and old-fashioned church, the hospital, 
and other big buildings which formed the 
monastery ; and as they did, the memory of the 
history of Benedictine monks of old came back 
to their minds, laden with holy and joyful 
memories. They were hospitably entertained 
at the guest-house. The good brother who 


140 


Alice Harmon, 


waited on them was all the time full of smiles. 
He alone, with some few others, had permission 
to speak, as his duties required it ; and, indeed, it 
was no harm that he should be excepted, as al- 
most every word that dropped from his lips was 
sufficient to sanctify. He continually observed 
the severest and most voluntary abstinence and 
self-denial in the very middle of temptation, as 
he was always surrounded with wines, meats, 
fruits, pies, and other exquisite eatables. This 
brother informed our travellers that, apart from 
necessary exceptions, they were all bound to 
keep absolute silence ; to live exclusively upon 
vegetable diet, and even then on about one 
meal and a half a day ; to retire about seven 
o’clock in the evenings, and rise at two, when 
the chanting of the holy office began ; to ob- 
serve the ordinary solemn vows of poverty, 
chastity, and obedience, and never to quit the 
abbey unless one received a special dispensa- 
tion from the Sovereign Pontiff. Alice and 
Patrick sat near a window, after refreshing 
themselves, and gazed out upon a sweet and 
peaceful scene. It was the abbey cemetery. 
Flowers grew near the graves of those who were 
gone ; beautiful gravel-walks surrounded them ; 
trees grew near, filled with linnets and robins, 
who warbled delightfully. The walls of the 
monastery completely enclosed this enchanting 
little cemetery, and the holy priests and monks 


A /ice Hannon, 


141 

walked up and down the gravel paths, meditating 
deeply on the mighty truths which the graves 
at hand suggested to them. But soon the bell 
for vespers rang, and the good, pious monks of 
the choir withdrew to the church to chant that 
portion of the holy office. Alice and Patrick 
followed, taking their seats in a lofty gallery 
which overlooked the grand, high altar, before 
which the good religious prayed. All the glory, 
beauty, and divinity of their belief rushed in 
upon them when they heard the solemn, sacred 
psalms recited by that choir within the abbey 
walls. God was present in the middle of his 
humble priests and the lay brothers whom he 
loved so well because they voluntarily returned 
to him all that was his own. Patrick and Alice 
saw other visitors there besides themselves, 
chiefly drawn there, as they said, by the well- 
known sanctity and virtues of Father Paul. 
They wanted to see him, to kneel before him, 
receive his blessing, and be better souls. The 
fervor with which they spoke of his excellence 
made Alice and Patrick burn to see him also 
ere they would depart; but as it was now rather 
late, they were obliged to wait till next morn- 
ing. Then the wishes of their hearts were 
gratified, and they set out from Mellary with 
thankful hearts, begging of God to shed addi- 
tional glory and blessing upon that lovely asy- 
lum of gladness and peace, where saints were 


142 


Alice Harmon, 


formed, God adored, the poor fed, and so many 
weak, sad, and unholy hearts were strength- 
ened, sanctified, and cheered. 


CHAPTER XXVIll. 

MEETING A FRIEND. 



1LD Dan Harmon was overjoyed to 
know that his niece and nephew 
felt so delighted with their trip to 
Mellary. 

They assured him, on their part, that its 
memory would continue with them till they 
died, and that they would publish its sanctity 
and beauty on the other side of the Atlantic. 
But soon the day of their departure came, 
dawning sadly on the soul of Dan, since its 
afternoon would find him separated, perhaps 
for ever, from the two he loved. He left them 
at Queenstown, comfortably fixed on board 

the Inman steamer. City of . They shed 

tears at leaving old Dan and Ireland, as they 
thought of his paternal kindness, their sweet 
native home, Loretto Convent, and the friends 
they loved. The beautiful town and harbor 
soon faded from their view, and a glorious sun- 
set shone over the still, calm sea, as they saw 
for the last time the shores of dear Ireland. 


Alice Hannon. 


143 

The sublimities of the ocean scenery, by sun 
and moonlight, had a greater charm for them 
than for Marlow, because they were taught to 
love them from childhood, and they now 
possessed what he had not — viz.^ the delight- 
ful chance of sharing with each other by con- 
versation the beautiful thoughts and feelings 
which the grandeur of the landscape excited. 
Day after day passed, opening to the view of 
the voyagers the very same scenes which Mar- 
low had witnessed. Pretty nearly the same 
class of travellers crowded the decks of the 

City of , so we need not wait to describe 

them. After eleven days of pleasant sailing, 
they reached the Castle Garden. Here they 
were overjoyed to see George Marlow, who, in 
his answer to their last letter, promised to meet 
them upon their arrival. What happy feelings 
filled their hearts at meeting their friend again ! 
Even in the midst of the crowds who were 
hurrying from the Castle Garden they could 
not restrain themselves, but gave way to tears 
and sighs and expressions of joy. Oh ! the 
beauty of friendship. What love and delight 
it awakens when the hearts that contain it are 
pure and act solely for Jesus ! The sight of 
Marlow brought back to the minds of the Har- 
mons the* memory of the old joys, scenes, 
friends, and associations of their native home 
by the sea-side. He, too, had at seeing, them 


144 


Alice Hannon, 


become warmly affected, and their presence 
brought back to his mind the deep debt of 
gratitude that he owed them. Each seemed 
changed to the other, but still for the best. 
Each perceived in the other the external marks 
of their vocations. George Marlow saw in the 
person of Patrick one who seemed formed 
from infancy for the life of a soldier. He con- 
gratulated him most heartily on his valiant 
services in Italy for religion, justice, and our 
Holy Father. He saw in Alice all the re- 
quisite materials for a good Sister of Charity. 
Love shone in her eyes, spoke in her voice, 
and gave life to her sentiments ; so she seemed 
fitted by nature for the life she had chosen. 
Marlow, too, appeared to possess all the signs 
that generally mark the vocation to the priest- 
hood. Ever since his conversion he was drawn 
by an irresistible desire towards that elevat- 
ed station. He was now intelligent, pure, dig- 
nified, good-natured, and holy. He looked 
grave and fair, and increased in size since the 
Harmons last beheld him. His dress, his 
manner, and air marked him at once as an as- 
pirant to the priesthood. As Marlow was no 
longer a stranger to New York, he found no 
difficulty in hailing a stage that would drop 
him quite close to the Astor House. Alice 
had never before seen such a large city as New 
York, so she was delighted and filled with 


Alice Hannon. 


H5 

wonder on beholding its splendid banks, stores, 
churches, and hotels. She thought that the 
human wave on either side of Broadway 
would never end. Its bustle and uproar ap- 
peared in strange contrast with the solitude 
and silence of her old, beloved home. She gaz- 
ed out of the stage at forms walking rapidly past 
with minds and every sense involved in business, 
striving to frame and execute plans that would 
bring more dollars into their pockets and 
houses. Ah! thought she, how many amongst 
that crowd are forgetful of Almighty God. 
Intent alone on money and pleasures, they 
fly along to meet, perhaps, with a terrible 
doom. Still, considered she, everything around 
and above them is calculated to remind them 
of their final end, if they only reflect upon 
their great Creator. Such reflections occurred 
to the mind of Alice, when her train of thought 
was suddenly checked by the abrupt standstill 
of the stage in which they rode before the 
Astor House. Here they had rooms and sup- 
per, after which Marlow bade them good- eve- 
ning, with a promise to call on them next 
morning. Faithful to his word, he came at the 
time appointed, and invited the brother and 
sister to be present next day at the church of 
his order, where they would witness his pro- 
motion to tonsure. 


146 


Alice Hannon, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

AN ORDINATION. 

HEY came at the hour marked out for 
the ceremony, and were glad to hear 
that two deacons were to be advanc- 
ed on that day to the state of 
priesthood. The church was beautifully 
adorned, and the altar seemed brilliant indeed 
in the midst of splendid paintings, lights, satins, 
and flowers. The organ pealed forth in deep, 
rich tones the hymns that our Saviour loves. 
It was now slow and grave, again fast and 
sweet, then just between, till at last it swell- 
ed with active, mighty power, speaking, in 
rapid, inspiring, joyful airs, the soul of music. 
As Alice and Patrick listened in that sacred 
spot, they thought that the melody came from 
the throne of heaven. They saw their friend 
approach from the vestry, clad in his cassock, 
with a clean, white surplice, emblem of purity, 
suspended on his arm. They saw two deacons 
drawing near, clad in alb and stole and mani- 
ple, with candles such as George had in their 
hands. Their eyes were shut to the world, 
and gazed alone on scenes of spiritual beauty. 
The bishop soon came forth, clad in his splen- 
did vestments. Some people were there, look- 
ing on the scene with delighted hearts. The 



Alice Harmon. 


147 

blaze of lights on the grand altar, the rich and 
shining vestments, the stream of glory that the 
sun shed in on the varied group, the tones of 
the organ, all looked like a heavenly scene to 
those who gazed on them. Mass began very 
soon, and, after a little time, George Marlow 
was advanced to the tonsure. Now he be- 
longed indeed to the band of holy clerics who 
were of the army of Jesus. He said to the 
bishop before his promotion .• “ Dominus pars 
hereditatis nece et calicis mei tu es qtii restitues 
hereditatem meant mihil' 

The organ played more sweetly and more 
joyously, giving thanks in song at the end of 
that sacred ceremony ; but when the time came 
for the deacons to advance, the attention of the 
observers was more keenly excited. Those two 
candidates for the ministry had already renounc- 
ed the world, consecrated themselves to God 
by their solemn vows of purity, and had the 
holy spirit of the Lord filling their hearts as it 
did that of St. Stephen. When they saw them 
prostrate themselves before the altar to show 
their submission to Almighty God, the specta- 
tors were deeply affected. Then they arose, 
fresh and hopeful, with their faces finely ex- 
pressing the light and the fire of their hearts. 
They received again the spirit of God to for- 
tify, inflame, and illumine them. They touched 
ere long, with anointed fingers, the chalice, host, 


148 


Alice Harmon. 


and patina, and just then obtained from the 
bishop the power to offer up the pure, divine 
sacrifice which Malachias foretold would be 
made to God, “ from the rising to the setting of 
the sun, throughout all nations.” They next 
received from the bishop that power which 
our Lord gave to his disciples when he said, 
breathing his spirit upon them : “ Receive ye 
the Holy Ghost : whose sins you shall forgive, 
they are forgiven ; and whose sins you shall re- 
tain, they are retained.” When the bishop 
pronounced these words, the assisting sacred 
ministers unfolded the chasubles of the newly 
ordained, who soon retired to find themselves 
priests of the Most High, occupying a posi- 
tion that possessed more power and glory than 
all the force and grandeur that kings and em- 
perors could bring into command. Now they 
were clad in the robes of Melchisedec, grand 
representatives of Christ, who had filled them 
with such torrents of graces. They stood en- 
dowed 'with the same power which he had 
brought upon earth from his Heavenly Father. 
They had the faculty to offer sacrifice to the 
Most High, to remit or retain sins, to preach, 
to confer the sacraments, and in various other 
ways to bless and sanctify. Full of this con- 
sciousness, the two young Levites were filled 
with a humble joy. 

They advanced to drink that sacred blood 


Alice Harmon, 


149 


“that makes virgins,” and to partake of that 
blessed flesh which is the food of the good 
and holy. Then the eyes of their spirits 
beheld angelic forms advancing, shedding 
with their lovely wings the light of beauty 
around them, and singing songs of affection, 
praise, and joy to their Saviour. The incense 
of prayer rose up to the clouds from the hearts 
of the assembled adorers. The organ played 
with more spirit and sweetness till the Mass 
ended, then the solemn, grand, and deep strains 
of the organ, entoning the “Te Deum,” re- 
sounded through the sacred building, plunging 
the hearts of those who listened into a regular 
delirium of thanksgiving and joy. The Lord 
was good and kind to his people ; so they prais- 
ed and thanked him. The bishop addressed 
some words of love and hope and congratula- 
tion to the newly anointed, and the tone of his 
voice and the style of his language were full 
of feeling. All blessed him in their hearts, and 
resolved never to forget his affection and his 
kindness. 


Alice Harmon, 


150 

CHAPTER XXX. 

A SISTER OF CHARITY. 

and many were the congratu- 
3ns which his friends bestowed 
George Marlow. The young 
ic introduced the two Harmons 
to the superior of the religious house, and told 
him their plans for the future. He spoke 
to them in words of welcome and exceeding 
kindness, and at the same time consented to be 
the guardian of all the money that they pos- 
sessed till they required it. It was resolved 
that Alice should go to Mount St. Vincent 
Academy, the great nursery of the Sisters of 
Charity, and there be fully instructed in all the 
duties of her vocation. As the Irish brigade, 
under General Meagher, was after being organ- 
ized, Patrick thought that he would enter it. 
He acted in this way because he was an old 
national-brigader, because he loved Thomas 
Francis Meagher, and desired to fight again 
under the banner of Ireland. Let us accom- 
pany Alice Harmon to the Academy of Mount 
St. Vincent. 

Situated about one mile and a half above 
Riverdale, on the eastern bank of the Hudson, 
stood the large and beautiful Academy of 
Mount St. Vincent. The castellated appear- 



Alice Hannon, 


ance of one part of it, united with the plainer 
and more modern style of the other, made it 
look more varied and grand in the midst of 
the beautiful scenery around it. The Palisades 
arose in front of it in all their stern grandeur, 
bathed at their base by the bright and swelling 
waves of the noble Hudson. This glorious 
river rolled along, giving a living charm to 
the scenes on either side of it. Mount St. 
Vincent looked royal and peaceful amidst 
the woods, villas, and charming gardens that 
lay quite close to it. Fresh, life-giving air, 
beautiful skies, and charming water and sylvan 
scenes delighted the hearts and senses of its 
pupils. A very heaven of peace and beauty, 
it awakerred feelings of admiration, joy, and 
praise in the hearts of the travellers who sailed 
in the steamers that passed it in the sum- 
mer-time. Not only was it the temple of 
loveliness, affection, and peace, but it was 
the shrine of knowledge and sanctity also. 
Thither the daughters of ladies of fashion 
and wealth, both Catholic and Protestant, 
came to be taught music, drawing, poetry, lit- 
erature, and the other useful and beautiful 
sciences. Religion was there the queen of 
accomplishments. Every branch of the art‘» 
and the sciences was there tinctured with her 
beauty, and the pupils, indeed, felt tlie good 
of it, because they returned to their homes, 


152 


Alice Harmon. 


when the vacations came, docile, sweet, and 
obedient. And to whom could all this suc- 
cess be attributed ? To the labors of the 
sisters. The Sister of Charity was destined 
by God to give aid to his ministers in the re- 
formation of society. She was raised up as a 
savior to the orphan, a lamp to the benighted, 
and a source of help and joy to the starving, 
sick, and dying. She consecrated her body to 
Almighty God, and the modest light of her 
eyes spoke of her lily-white purity. Her life 
was sweet and tranquil, and her soul was fed 
almost every day with the lessons and blood 
of Jesus. She had many friends, and those 
were chiefly the saints, whose beautiful lives 
she endeavored to imitate. She loved the 
children dearly, because our Lord was fond of 
them. Their innocent ways fed her own spirit 
of innocence. She delighted in turning their 
minds and hearts to a knowledge and love of 
Jesus. She shone pure and fair in the walks 
of the garden when the early morning beamed 
on the beautiful scenery around her. She 
passed some time in meditating deeply on the 
truths of God and the shortness of ex- 
istence. 

Then she might be seen at another time 
walking through the streets on a mission of 
kindness. She was most frequently seen where 
the poor and abandoned resided, turning their 


A /ice Harmon. 


153 

eyes of faith to bright, spiritual scenes, and 
feeding their souls Avith good thoughts of love 
and of piety. The study of her whole life was 
to try to make the miserable happy in the heart 
of Jesus. Had she the means at her command, 
she would endeavor to make sin and horror fly 
from the bosom of society. Let those who 
died in cells, and dens, and decent homes, and 
on the battle-field, speak of her wonderful kind- 
ness. The last day will reveal all to the minds 
of all the human beings that ever existed. The 
Sister of Charity does not seek for an earthly 
reward. That faith which she loves so well 
bids her look forward for a prize eternal. And 
she does so. She knows that her pains, labors, 
and sorrows here will be turned into bright 
crowns of sweetness, rest, and joy hereafter. 
She strives to make others feel the value of this 
truth by her life and teachings. The children 
whom she educates grow up like doves in the 
house of God, cherishing in their hearts those 
beautiful feelings which her lessons awaken, and 
retaining in their minds that clear and solid 
knowledge, caught from her instructions, which 
makes them ever after an honor to their homes, 
an advantage to the world, and an ornament to 
society. Because’Alice knew that such was the 
character of a true Sister of Charity, she desired 
to become one, and her Avishes received at 
Mount St. Vincent a most cordial encourage- 


154 


Alice Hannon. 


ment. There she was safely and happily placed 
by her friends, a real jewel amidst diamonds, 
and in that spot we shall leave her to virtue 
and God and pure joy whilst we shall look 
after Patrick and Meagher’s brigade. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

MEAGHER AND THE IRISH BRIGADE. 

HE name of Meagher ought to be 
enough to make one a patriot, it is 
so closely united with deeds of valor, 
self-sacrifice, and love, all done for 
God and his country. He was the very beau 
ideal of an ardent and accomplished Irishman. 
The son of a wealthy citizen, born in the town 
of Waterford, Ireland, he cultivated from his 
youth a great love for his country. This love 
was not confined to mere language and senti- 
ment, but shone forth in heroic action. Impul- 
sive, talented, and full of the poetic genius of 
his native land, which ever seeks for grand and 
romantic incidents, he joined the party of 
Young Irishmen in ’48, and was not the least 
beloved in that gallant but Unsuccessful band. 
The greatest object of his ambition was to 
secure the freedom of Ireland. To gain this 
he was ready to sacrifice health, wealth, friends, 



Alice Harmon, 


155 


and even his own existence. But his darling 
hopes were blasted, his glorious efforts failed, 
and he found himself before long a prisoner at 
the bar, in company with other patriots, brand- 
ed by the government as a felon, because he 
sought to remove tyranny from Ireland. His 
speech delivered on that occasion remains to 
us an imperishable monument of his patriotism 
and his genius. Sentenced to while away his 
years in the wilds of Van Diemen’s Land, he 
did not lose all hope, even on his voyage there, 
of gaining salvation for Ireland. God did not 
will that he should pine away his fine young 
life in that far-off country, so he aided his 
escape, in company with some patriot friends, 
to this glorious and adopted land of so many 
Irishmen. Here he breathed the air of freedom 
amongst a people who idolize the very name 
of liberty. His handsome figure, splendid 
address, amiable manners, soldierly accomplish- 
ments, and thrilling eloquence, have made his 
name beloved and dear to every admirer of 
excellence and beauty; and with all this he 
was not proud, as he was endowed with the 
humility of the Christian and the patriot. He 
loved America, the land of his adoption—that 
land which received him bleeding, as it were, 
from the oppressor’s grasp, and opened its 
riches, honors, and joys to his down-trodden 
countrymen. Fired by feelings of gratitude 


Harmo7i, 


156 

and love towards the great republic, he did 
not hesitate to shed his blood for the North, 
which so gloriously maintained the side of right 
and freedom. Troops had already hurried from 
New York to the field. 

The idea of forming an Irish brigade was 
very much approved of by the Federal Gov- 
ernment ; and, indeed, the gallant, healthy sons 
of Ireland were wild with joy at the thought 
of fighting for the land of their adoption, and 
beneath the command of him whose name was 
a source of pride and honor to their country. 

Patrick Harmon did not appear the least no- 
ble, brave, and handsome-looking of the boys 
who formed the gallant Sixty-ninth. Full of 
the true Irish blood, he longed for the battle 
and the shout of war. 

The whole brigade were as jolly and as full 
of joy on the day they left New York as if 
they were going to play a game of foot-ball on 
the green fields of old Ireland. They were 
proud of their commander and of their heroic 
and saintly chaplain. In the field they were 
the pith and marrow of the Federal army. 
Fatigue, disappointments, fire and blood and 
death, were despised by them. They were 
fortified bodily and spiritually, and, though not 
furnished at this time with a baptized cannon, 
yet they feared no danger. They revelled in 
the smell of gunpowder; and when the flame 


Alice Hannon. 


157 


and smoke and thunder of baftle arose, they 
could not stay in the background, but rushed 
in front to be victorious. 

The wonderful zeal and courage of their 
chaplain inspired them with additional valor 
and piety. When he could, perhaps, have sat 
in his tent like an Eastern prince, in the centre of 
ease and of luxury, he was abroad cheering the 
men, sharing their toils and dangers, elevating 
the dying to the life of faith, and often satisfy- 
ing the burning thirst of the gasping soldier. 
Patrick Harmon watched all this, and he was 
drawn by a kind of irresistible love to the heart 
of the active, good-humored, pious, and high- 
souled reverend father. He distinguished him- 
self so bravely in the various engagements 
through which the Sixty-ninth passed that he 
was highly advanced in the sight of the men 
and of his commander. 

Each time the brigade gazed on their stan- 
dards, where they saw the stars and stripes 
united with the undying green, their hearts 
swelled with love and rapture for their native 
and adopted countries. They thought of the 
glory which their fathers won at Fontenoy 
and in other fields, and this reflection quicken- 
ed their courage and their thirst for victory. 
Through flame, and shell, and smoke, and death 
they hurried after their beloved commander. 
Fair Oaks, Malvern Hill, and Antietam* bear 


Alice Harmon. 


158 

witness to their heroic deeds; but their ranks 
were lessening fast, as they were not made of 
adamant to resist the terrible broadsides which 
were so often poured in upon them by the 
enemy from every quarter. At the heights of 
Fredericksburg they suffered frightful slaugh- 
ter; but, full of enthusiasm and a desire for 
victory, they would not think for an instant of 
remaining behind their heroic commander. 
They loved him intensely, and would die for 
him at any moment, because they regarded his 
whole being as the very personification of the 
genius of Ireland. The hand of Providence 
must indeed have protected Patrick through 
all the engagements up to the time that the 
regiment was broken, as he always escaped 
even from the slightest wound, though he con- 
stantly exposed himself in the very front to 
the fierce fire of the enemy. 

Whilst he is revelling over the glory that his 
regiment is winning for America and his na- 
tive land, let us return and take a view of his 
sister Alice. 


Alice Harmon^ 


159 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


A woman’s bravery and devotion. 



LICE Harmon had not been many 
months in Mt. St. Vincent Academy 
before she was thought fit, owing to 
her varied talents and accomplish- 
ments, to become one of the sisters. Her heart 
sighedfor action, which she considered the fruit 
of a spirit of sanctity. She often thought she 
heard the thunder of the artillery that shook 
the battle-fields of America ringing in her ears. 
The groans of the dying and the varied horrors 
of the civil war awoke deep feelings of love and 
sympathy for the wretched in her heart. Some 
sisters had gone already from New York to the 
seat of war. Could not she go also, and do 
some good by her presence there ? This desire 
so possessed her heart that she felt in a state 
of great agony till she found out that she could 
cherish a hope of having it gratified. The good 
mother-superior had a great love for Alice, be- 
cause she saw that she was full of humility, 
though at the same time possessing an angelic 
appearance and most brilliant accomplishments. 
She was conscious of Alice’s desire, and was ready 
to gratify it, because she knew that the young 
sister was animated in her new views by the 


i6o Alice Hannon. 

sublimest of motives. So, sooner than oppose 
the wish of Alice, which she thought conformed, 
regarding this matter, with the will of Jesus, she 
consented readily to her departure for the 
South with some other sisters. The day was 
appointed, and they set out, like the good 
ones of old, to do good for our Lord and 
their neighbor. The thought of facing battle- 
fields, hospitals, a strange people, and various 
dangers did not frighten them. They went 
full of the spirit of their holy mission and of 
the graces of the sacraments. They went silent- 
ly on, shedding the light of their piety and 
purity around them. They endured for months 
the bitterest inconveniences. They went 
through the scenes where the battle had just 
raged, cheering the dying, healing their wounds, 
quenching their thirst, and speaking to them 
of heaven and Jesus. They sought to console 
the afflicted by their tender persuasions. 

They were frequently seen by the side of the 
dying, in the prisons and in the hospitals, doing 
all that human charity could to relieve them. 
Alice seemed specially gifted by heaven for 
this work of love and devotion. The more she 
had to do, the happier she felt. Others were 
inflamed with a kindred spirit by her wonderful 
zeal. She would go to the scene of conflict 
when the smoke of the battle had scarcely 
yet left the field, find bring the living to bury 


Alice Harmon. i6i 

the dead, and dress the wounds of the suffering' 
soldier. Her soft, sweet smile, her beautiful 
face, so expressive of sanctity, and her whole 
demeanor, would at once fill with thanks and 
love the heart of a soldier. She would give 
him wine to strengthen him, and bathe his 
burning head in water brought from a neigh- 
boring stream. The light of olden visions 
would then break on the soul of the gasping 
soldier. When the dying man was a Catholic, 
and had seen the priest whom Alice had 
brought to his side, he would expire beautifully, 
wishing to go to that other land where there 
were such fair and loving angels as the 
good sister. Day and night Alice had scarcely 
enjoyed any slumber. 

Nothing gave her pain going on her chari- 
table rounds but the brutality of some who 
hacked the dying to pieces through some dia- 
bolical spirit, and robbed them of their money 
and clothes. The oaths and blasphemies of 
some, even amongst the dying, touched her 
heart like poisoned arrows. 

One day, after a hot engagement, in which 
the rebels endured a heavy loss, Alice was 
going on her usual work around the battle- 
field. She came near a wood where there was 
a pleasant green dell, through which a bright 
stream wandered. Her attention was drawn 
to this spot by low sobs of agony which she 


Alice Harmon. 


162 

heard coming towards her. On entering, she 
saw two handsome young soldiers, frightfully 
wounded, with tattered uniforms and bleeding 
sides and arms, trying to reach the margin of 
the stream by creeping. Each time they 
sought to go near it a fresh cry of anguish es- 
caped them. Oh ! get me the water,” said 
one of them. “ I must be a Christian.” No 
sooner did Alice hear this than she bounded 
joyfully towards the stream, causing both of 
them to utter a cry of delight the moment 
they beheld her. When the one who had called 
for it saw it in her hands, he made an effort to 
raise himself up, and to lift his shattered arms 
towards heaven, whilst the failing light of his 
eye kindled afresh with expressions of thanks, of 
joy and devotion. “ Oh ! ” he exclaimed, whilst 
the difficulty with which he spoke proclaimed 
his hopeless condition, “ pour the water upon 
me in God’s name ; for I must be a Christian.” 
Alice did so, using the form and intention re- 
quired, and with one convulsive scream of joy 
the youth expired. 

She learned from the other, who felt more 
refreshed when Alice had dressed his wounds, 
that his dead comrade had been taken by a 
Jewish family when a foundling, and thus 
reared up from childhood both ignorant and 
regardless of the Christian religion, till he had 
given him some instructions about it a few 


Alice Hannon. 


163 

(lays before. He felt inciifferent about bap- 
tism then, but since that time had doubtless 
thought something proper concerning it, as be- 
fore death he had made such wonderful efforts 
to receive it. 

When Alice had the wounded soldier re- 
moved to a neighboring tent, he poured bene- 
dictions upon her and called her an angel. 
She bade him thank God, not her, and left 
him in good hands, whilst she went to explore 
more at large the scene of the recent engage- 
ment. She passed along through heaps of 
dead till she arrived at the other side of the 
wood in which she had seen the two dying 
soldiers. Here a new and affecting scene 
awaited her. She beheld a man of about 
thirty-five years old, with a leg and an arm 
completely shot away, seated on the ground, 
and patting with his right hand the head of 
a youth who lay up against a little mound, 
whilst tears of sorrow and anguish streamed 
down his countenance. Though the blood 
from the parts where the arm and leg were 
shot away coursed in torrents to the ground, 
yet he did not consider this, but sighed and 
spoke and wept with bitter woe over his dead 
companion. He patted the soft, glossy black 
hair, disfigured with blood ; he kissed again 
and again the pale and handsome cheek ; he 
opened repeatedly those eyes that were shut 


Alice Harmon » 


164 

for ever to the light of day, hoping to see the 
least spark of life quivering there ; but no, they 
were glazed and as dead to feeling now as 
diamonds beneath the rills. 

Alice watched all this from a little distance. 
She was not seen by the mourner. She was 
going to advance, but she heard him say : “ No, 
you will never wake more, dear brother. You 
will never see your own loved Dan again. His 
flute has no longer any sweetness for you. 
The name of home and mother will not be 
uttered by you in this life again. Poor mother ! 
poor Cloyne ! poor Dan that you loved ! — 
these were the words you used when dying, 
after begging the Lord to have mercy upon 
you. O Willie ! Willie ! how my heart 
grieves for you, my darling, darling brother.” 
He hung with his yet remaining arm on the 
neck of his dead brother ; he kissed him again 
and again, and called on God to bear himself 
away to that beautiful place where Willie had 
gone after dying. His voice was getting 
weaker and his face much whiter. Alice ran 
towards him with bandages for his wounds 
and water to quench his raging thirst. His 
eye gleamed with a spark of joy when he saw 
her ; hope filled his soul at the sight, since he 
took her for an angel whom God had sent to 
answer his prayer. 


Alice Harmon. 165 

You spoke of Cloyne ! ” said she. “ I am 
from near there.” 

The poor good man, after hearing this, ex- 
tended his hand to hers, gave a scream of joy, 
kissed his dead brother again, and died. 

The soul of Alice melted at this touching 
scene. Her eyes were filled with tears. She 
knelt on the ground, and prayed to Jesus, the 
Blessed Virgin, and her guardian angel that 
they would lift the souls of these two brothers 
from the vale of sadness and gloom to the 
mountain of joy and of brightness. She had 
their bodies removed and decently buried. 

Such was the way that Alice’s time was 
spent on the battle-fields ; and it was marked 
by the same signs and deeds of love in the 
midst of the hospitals. There she was a sister 
indeed, a mother, a nurse, an angel. As she 
moved along by the separate wards, nothing 
but tears, and blood, and sighs, and frequent 
curses and oaths confronted her. But as 
she passed, even the worst amongst the bad 
felt changed. They saw from her looks that 
she was the agent of Christ, the giver of joy 
and health and peace. She filled the despair- 
ing with hope, the sad with gladness, the weak 
with strength, and the angry with patience. 
She bade them thank God, even in the 
height of their sufferings, because these, if well 
borne, would bring crowns, and were cherished 


Alice Harmon, 


1 66 

as gems by our Saviour. They loved to see 
her, to hear her voice, to speak of her, to grasp 
her by the hand. She was the guiding star 
that lit up the lives of the young and old. It 
was only on one occasion, up to the time we 
write, that she got an insult. In the end of a 
certain ward of the hospital was an angry, 
dark, and wasting person reclining on his 
couch. He was a heretic from childhood, and 
nothing passed his lips but blasphemies. He 
was suffering terrible pain from a wound re- 
ceived in the chest, owing to the effects of 
which few chances remained of his recovery. 
Taught from his cradle to hate priests and 
nuns, he had an inveterate horror and con- 
tempt for the sister. His life was fast sinking, 
and, though her friends sought to dissuade Alice 
from approaching him, still her charity soared 
above their reasons, and she came near his 
bedside, even in the height of his threats and 
gestures of rage, and his blasphemies. She 
spoke to him feelingly and kindly, and told 
him that she came to do him some service. 
He called her a devil, and bade her begone. 
Nothing daunted, she drew nearer to him with 
the names of Jesus and Mary on her lips. She 
spoke to him of eternity and the certainty of 
his speedy arrival there out of this world. He 
closed his ears against her words, and spat in 
her face. Now he thought that he had tri- 


Alice Harmon. 


167 

umphed, and got rid of one whom he hated. 
But no ; she only smiled and blessed and thank- 
ed him, and went upon her knees to pray to 
Jesus and her guardian angel for his recovery. 
The demon in the man was vanquished after 
this display of humility, religion, and love on 
the part of Alice. He grew at once calm and 
penitent, and bade her stand up, that he might 
kiss her hand. As he did so, she saw a tear 
glisten in his dying eye. She did her very 
best to make use of the little time that was 
now left to her patient in this life. She heard 
him say, “ Oh ! how beautiful must that faith 
be which makes such Christians. Lady, were 
it not for your kindness and patience, I would 
indeed have died damned ; but now there is a 
chance for me. Go, get me the priest, as I wish 
to become a really true Christian.” The priest 
was brought, he was baptized, his peace made 
with God, and, instead of feelings of blas- 
phemy, anger, and hatred, a spirit of benedic- 
tion, tranquillity, and love now stole over his 
heart. Alice saw him die with the light and 
the peace of the Lord around his pillow, and 
her heart was filled with a spirit of thanksgiv- 
ing and joy, because God made her instru- 
mental in the sanctification and salvation of 
that once hardened old sinner. It would fill 
a volume to describe the various deeds of love 
which Alice did in the several hospitals. She 


Alice Harmon. 


1 68 

continued healing, cheering, and saving the 
wretched till the end of the war. She thanked 
God that her brother was well when she had 
last heard from him. Her soul was full of joy 
and rest in the exercise of her work for Jesus. 
She felt that the mission of man was to try to 
relieve, uplift, and cheer the bodies and hearts 
of his brethren for the sake of his Saviour. 
This is the work that would bring him ere long 
to the land of his dreams, and Alice saw with the 
eyes of faith the truth of this displayed in the 
changing of all her toils, sorrows, and tears for 
man into beautiful crowns and roses. 

She enjoyed those delightful revealings in 
her pmyers, which were every day raised to 
the throne of Jesus. How many families in 
this land owe a deep debt of gratitude to those 
sweet, pure sisters! How many a dying man 
saved through their blessed agency ; how 
many souls sent to glory by their lessons of 
penance, of love, and of peace ! Let those who 
have been taught from infancy to despise 
them reflect upon their grand self-sacrifices, 
their pure devotion to virtue, their country, and 
God, and they will learn to think better in 
future of the Sisters of Charity. 


Alice Harmon, 


169 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

FATHER MARLOW. 

N a certain religious house in New 
York City there were feelings of 
great joy amongst the ministers of 
God who possessed it on the Friday 
previous to Trinity Sunday, in the summer of 
1 86-, because their beloved friend, George 
Marlow, was to be received into the priesthood 
on the following day. He himself was inspired 
with a divine gladness, because he was to see 
the wishes of his soul very soon fulfilled. He 
was now in retreat, poring over in his mind 
his life in the past, and begging of Jesus to 
shed his bright light around whatever was 
dark in it. He was dwelling upon the grandeur 
of the office which he was about to assume, and 
upon its immense responsibilities. He felt 
assured about his vocation, and, on account of 
many months of previous thought and prepa- 
ration with respect to this subject, he felt no 
scruple in advancing to receive Melchisedec. 
Prayer and the sacraments, the kind words of 
his friends, the thought of the priesthood and 
the good he could do in it, filled his heart with 
courage and joy. He stood before the same 
altar to be ordained priest, on the Saturday 
before Trinity, as he had previously when receiv- 
ing tonsure ; but the friends were not near who 



170 


Alice Harmon. 


were looking on at that time. They were on the 
battle-fields where the blood of the sons of the 
North and South so freely flowed ; but George 
knew that he had their prayers, and he in turn 
remembered them before the altar. When the 
ceremony was ended, he stood, a noble, hand- 
some priest, full of the spirit of love and of 
sanctity. Now he felt quite a new man, and 
could scarcely believe that he was possessed of 
such wonderful faculties. He gave his blessing 
to the young and old, and the humble, meek, 
and loving way with which it was given made 
it doubly welcome to the hearts of all. He 
was indeed a good priest. He was now thin 
and tall and fair, with curly hair and a large, 
well-formed brow. He was full of intelligence, 
as his professors in theology could tell. His 
exquisite, regular life spoke well for his sanctity, 
and his heart was a very heaven of meekness, 
love, and kindness. All were fond of him, and 
he always thought himself the least worthy to 
be loved. Now he was going to enter into the 
active duties of the ministry. 

His heart swelled with zeal and joy at the 
thought of the grand field that was open before 
him^ He had souls to bless and save and 
sanctify, the sad to cheer, the poor to enrich, the 
blind to enlighten, the intemperate to sober, 
and, in a word, the whole moral, physical, and 
intellectual world of man to help to reform. 


Alice Harmon. 


171 


And his most zealous exertions were needed, 
as he saw, to do all this, since many parts of the 
parish in which he lived were filled with dens 
of infamy. He resolved to make our Lord the 
model of his life. He tried to imitate him in 
his zeal, love, meekness, purity, humility, and 
spirit of forgiveness. His life of self-denial and 
goodness was ever before him, reminding him 
of his duty to heaven and conscience whenever 
temptations came to disturb it. The influence of 
the young priest’s actions was not unfelt by his 
fellow-clergymen and the people with whom 
he came in contact. They all loved him, and 
tried to improve their lives by imitating his 
example. He did not mind all this, because 
his eyes were shut to the view of vanity. He 
did not spare himself in the labors of his min- 
istry ; his hours were passed respectively in 
offering up Mass, reading his divine office, 
studying his sermons, visiting the schools and 
the sick, and hearing confessions. The time 
that he devoted to honest recreation was 
very trifling. Many a dying soldier in the 
hospital and in his own poor home died utter- 
ing blessings in the light of the smile of Father 
Marlow. And now, on the evening of a certain 
day in July, 186-, a certain case of peculiar 
interest occurred to him ; but the description of 
this will form the subject of the following 
chapter. 


172 


Alice Harmon, 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A LOVING BUT SORROWFUL MEETING. 

ATHER MARLOW had gone to the 
lower end of the city early one eve- 
ning on business. As he was return- 
ing home through the streets, he Avas 
suddenly seized by a person on the sidewalk 
before a high, narrow, respectable residence. 
“Oh ! come, come, father, I beg of you,” said the 
young man who grasped him, and who saw from 
his dress that he was a priest. “ Come into the 
house to see and prepare a dying soldier ; he 
has just had a terrible hemorrhage.” Quick as 
thought Father Marlow followed the speaker 
up the stairway to the second story of the 
building, where people were gathered, talking 
and acting excitedly. He saw on his entrance 
the form of a Sister of Charity bending over 
one who was sinking on a couch full of blood. 
The moment he entered the Sister of Charity 
turned round and beheld him. At the sight 
exclamations of surprise and joy escaped from 
both of them; they grasped each other’s hands, 
and Alice Harmon brought the priest with 
streaming eyes to the bedside of the dying sol- 
dier. When he saw Father Marlow, he tried to 
rush into his arms, uttering a cry of gladness. 
“ O Father Marlow ! ” said Alice, “ do you not 



Alice Harmon, 


know my brother Patrick ? God has sent you 
here to save him.” The priest did not recog- 
nize young Harmon at first, because he was 
greatly changed by letting a beard and mus- 
tache grow on his features. But when he heard 
Alice say this, he grasped the hand of the dy- 
ing man, and kissed his burning cheek. “ O 
Alice ! what a loving but sorrowful meeting is 
this,” exclaimed Father Marlow. “ Has the 
doctor seen Patrick?” 

“ Yes,” said the good sister ; “ but he 
thinks my brother’s condition is hopeless.” 
And indeed it was so, because he now 
began to look weaker and paler. His breath 
came thicker and faster, and his fingers 
clutched the bed-clothes again and again with 
a feverish, nervous agitation. The priest re- 
quested all to leave the room, and, seeing that 
very little time was left, began at once to pre- 
pare Patrick Harmon for eternity. He called 
upon his name, told him who he was, and re- 
minded him of Jesus ; but he could not get an 
answer. He was silent as the tomb. At last 
he raised his eyes, turned round, and said: “God 
have mercy on me ! ” Then Father Marlow 
was overjoyed at the hope of hearing his con- 
fession. He did so briefly, and, after inviting 
the others into the room, proceeded to anoint 
him. Scarcely had the sacrament been admin- 
istered to the dying man, so full of love, and 


174 


Alice Harmon. 


thanks, and penitence, and joy, than he raised 
himself upon his couch, lifted his eyes towards 
God, grasped the crucifix with quivering hand, 
then fell back on his pillow without a groan, 
and his soul went to his home far away, where 
Christ and his angels and saints received it in 
glory. 

Then Father Marlow and Alice joined in 
their prayers and tears for the dead soldier. 
He looked handsome and noble in death, as he 
did when living. His life was always pure, and 
devoted to the service of God and of freedom; 
so he went in his young days to the place 
where he was to receive the reward of his good- 
ness. Death supplies us all with a touching 
lesson, and those who looked upon it that eve- 
ning were not slow to be affected. The litanies 
of the holy church were said for the departed, 
the candles got, and the blessed habit put on the 
dead body of Patrick Harmon, Alice thanked 
God, as she usually did in the middle of every 
affliction. She felt resigned to his holy will, 
and grateful that he did not take her brother 
to himself without receiving the last sacraments. 
As they looked upon his cold, pale face, they 
thought of the old times spent in the cottage 
by the sea ; they remembered his light heart, 
his goodness, and his love ; and as these 
thoughts came rushing to their minds, their 
hearts became keenly affected. As it was now 


Alice Harmon, 


175 


getting late in the evening, Father Marlow was 
obliged to leave for home, but promised to 
call the next morning. It was arranged that 
the funeral services would take place in the 
church of the young priest’s order on the third 
day following ; so he set out, leaving Alice to 
her tranquil grief and resignation. When he 
left, a full sense of her loneliness now came 
upon her. She would never hear again the 
warm beatings of that heart she loved ; she 
would never gaze upon his smile or listen to his 
playful, cheerful words. God’s will be done, 
though. He was her great friend far away 
from the old land, and would never forsake 
her. Her holy faith filled her with hope and 
consolation, so she spent the night in watch- 
ing and prayer till morning came. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A brother’s grave. 

ATHER MARLOW, true to his pro- 
mise, came next morning to see Alice 
Plarmon and her dead brother, whom 
he so much loved. He had spoken to 
the superior of his order about the death of his 
friend, and made all arrangements for the fune- 
ral services at his church on the following 



Alice Harmon, 


176 

day. The greater part of his stay in the 
room of death was spent in reviewing with 
Alice the scenes of earlier days, in which Pat- 
rick so largely and happily shared, in discours- 
ing about God’s goodness and love, and the 
glories that await the soul of him who dies in 
the heart of Jesus. The funeral procession 
came to the church on the following morning. 
The body of him who witnessed such beautiful 
rites in it but a few years before was now the 
object of more touching ceremonies. Father 
Marlow sang the solemn High Mass, aided by 
deacon and sub-deacon. His voice expressed 
with feeling the beautiful prayers that he chant- 
ed, and there were a solemnity and grandeur 
about the character of the ceremony that touch- 
ed all hearts. The striking representations of 
death, made evident in the furniture of the altar 
and the sanctuary, the deep tones of the choir 
and organ, and the pale lights quivering amidst 
the dark hangings, gave to all around an appear- 
ance of mournful beauty. When the commu- 
nion had ended. Father Marlow ascended the 
pulpit, and pronounced a truthful and beautiful 
eulogy over the friend whom he so well knew 
and loved. His allusions to the home near the 
sea and the innocent life there led were touch- 
ing and elegant ; but when he spoke of Patrick’s 
departure for Italy with the Irish brigade to 
serve our Holy Father, he warmed, as he ad- 


Alice Harmon. 


m 

vanced, so that his eloquence became sublime. 
He dwelt at length on his devotion to his 
adopted country and the beauty of liis death. 
His exhortation to imitate the worthy dead, to 
remember them in prayer, and to claim their 
intercession, formed the last, though not least 
lovely, of his observations. When the Office 
was said over Patrick’s remains, the funeral 
proceeded through the streets to the ferry that 
was to carry them over to Calvary Cemetery in 
Brooklyn. The mourners did not heed the 
noise in the streets and on the river, nor did 
they notice the steamboats in such great num- 
bers, as their minds and hearts and senses were 
otherwise engaged. The carriage wliich con- 
tained them stopped at last, and they found 
themselves in Calvary Cemetery, with its green 
graves, monuments, walks, and willow-trees. 
Then they came out, and soon saw the coffin 
carried to its grave. The earth was thrown 
upon it, prayers were said, and Alice and Father 
Marlow let fall many a silent tear. She lin- 
■gered there over the red clay which hid from 
her gaze the casket which contained her broth- 
er’s remains, and she thought, as she knelt, that 
grass and roses grew over his grave. She saw 
a throne on high, on which her beloved sat, 
adorned with acrown of immortal gold. Angels 
shone in the light of his smiles. Close by him 
flowed the River of Life, from which the saints 


Alice Harmon. 


178 

drank eternal joy. He was looking down on 
her from above, and beckoning her to come and 
share with him his bliss and peace. He showed 
her his heart all on fire with the love of Jesus, 
and said that his soul was bathing for ever in 
the light of God's thrones. Her guardian angel 
seemed to lead her to his side to be a partaker 
of his endless joy, when a tap on her shoulder 
from the hand of a friend put an end to her 
dream. She arose with a start, and with burn- 
ing countenance told the priest the vision which 
she had seen. He smiled, thanked God, and, 
after another prayer, they quitted the cemetery. 
They did not leave that solemn, sacred spot, as 
many do, without carrying with them profit- 
a,ble, eternal thoughts. They were going from a 
cemetery, but they remembered that each move- 
ment homeward was bringing them nearer to 
their graves. They saw other funerals approach- 
ing, and they thought how little the busy 
crowds reflect upon the mighty number daily 
going to their eternal tombs. The noonday 
sun flung his glorious beams over the waters 
and the cities beyond, causing eyes to discover, 
by his magical light, beauties unseen before. 
What a multitude of thoughts, feelings, words, 
and deeds were filling the heart of those cities! 
How many working in many a way for wealth ! 
How many rushing in many a way to doom ! 
What rage and love, hatred and peace, dwelt 


Alice Hannon. 


179 


there ! How many a broken heart, how many 
a bosom swelling with joy, existed there, for- 
getting, perhaps, that but in one instant, and 
they would be buried for ever in an eternal sea ! 
Such ideas as these possessed the minds and 
were expressed by the lips of Alice and Father 
Marlow. As they returned home, Alice spoke 
of the scenes she saw during the war, and the 
bravery and goodness of Patrick were upper- 
most in their minds. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A MARTYR TO CHARITY. 

LICE, with some more sisters, was 
attached to a church in the lower 
part of the city. There she was 
greatly loved, and her zeal for souls 
and for doing good had a wide field. Day and 
night she dreamed of nothing now, after her 
brother’s death, but of seeing the dying go as 
he had gone, full of the grace of Jesus, to the 
sweet, eternal plains. Her choice companions 
were the poor, and the children shared her 
greatest attention and her warmest love. She 
went through the crowded streets, passed by 
gamblers, drunkards, blasphemers, and thieves, 
on her way to the homes of the poor, the 



Alice Harmon. 


I So 

wretched, and sad. She did not heed the 
burning heat of the sun pouring down on her 
head, weakening her delicate frame already 
worn out with fatigue. She was impelled by 
heavenly love, and she cared for no earthly in- 
convenience. Oh ! how she pitied the thought- 
less crowds from her heart, as she thought 
how they rushed so madly to the pits of doom. 
No ruffianly eye gazed with looks of lust upon 
her as she passed, because, when they saw her 
heavenly face, their foulest fancies would be 
made to revel in the most ethereal dreams. 
The sight of the poor little shoeblacks, news- 
venders, and bill-posters touched her heart 
keenly, and made her wish that she had the 
power to make them rich and holy in the way 
of Jesus. She went through the tenements 
where the foul, hot air existed, and the dirt 
gathered, and the starved and wretched drag- 
ged along their years in the midst of poisonous 
gin, whiskey, and crime. When drunken, bad 
women beheld her approach, they fell on 
their knees with respect and fear, and kissed 
the hem of her garment. She turned her 
eye of love and sanctity on them, and its 
pure, sweet beams spoke volumes of blessed 
thought and persuasion to their darkened 
souls. She had the ragged, starving children 
taken from the streets, and clad and fed. She 
spoke to them of God, whose name they had 


A /ice Harmon. i8i 

scarcely ever heard before. She kissed them, 
cleaned them, shook their hands, and, owing 
to her good and loving ways, made the hearts 
of their wretched, vicious parents beat with 
thrills of thanksgiving and joy She parted 
combatants, persuaded the ungodly to go to 
church, reformed the drunkard, consoled the 
sick, and made the dirty feel a horror for filth. 
She was present in the garrets and the cellars, 
doing good. Though delicate and young and 
fair, still she bore all well, and scarcely ever 
got an insult, because her sweet appearance 
seemed to bring heaven along with it, no 
matter what dens she explored. One day a 
frightful scene occurred to her. She ascended 
the stairs of a tenement in Cherry Street. As 
she went to the top, angry voices came from a 
room on the highest floor. They were sounds 
of terrible rage and defiance, muttered. alter- 
nately as she approached the door. Suddenly a 
frightful scream arose and filled the whole 
house. She threw open the door, and beheld 
a sight that chilled the blood in her veins. 
A man and woman lay on the floor, weltering 
in their blood. The man was yet kicking in 
his dying agony, but the woman was dead. 
The streams of blood and the razor on the 
floor spoke of the terrible deed. In a drunken 
brawl he had cut his wife's throat, and then 
put an end to his own existence by doing the 


82 


Alice Hannon. 


same. A child lay dead near the fireless grate, 
and a hungry, mad dog was eating it. Alice 
felt a terrible chill creeping through her body 
at this bloody scene. She called for the neigh- 
bors, and they came with looks and words of 
horror, sorrow, and pain. Her steps were next 
directed to a tenement in another street. It 
stood out cold and old and wretched, speaking 
truly, by its ill-looking exterior, of the awful 
condition of those within. Fumes of gin, gar- 
bage, and heaps of other dirt filled the sicken- 
ing burning air which the sun’s heat, crowded 
rooms, and wretched ventilation caused. 

Though poverty confronted Alice on every 
side, still she did not always gaze on scenes of 
horror and crime. In one room she saw a 
family full of sweetness, sobriety, and peace. 
The little that God. gave them was received 
with thanks, and they showed their gratitude 
and remembrance of Christ’s love by meeting 
often during the day in deep and earnest 
prayer. The mother gathered her little ones 
around her, and spoke to them of the old 
country and the name of Jesus. The father 
smoked his black clay pipe, and then played 
his beloved old flute. The older ones danced 
to the tune of his airs, and, as the sister came in, 
they respectfully ceased their fun, and welcom- 
ed her Avith expressions and looks of joy. But 
when she quitted these, and went down to the 


Alice Harmon. 


183 

cellar, a touching, harrowing scene presented 
itself to her view. The ceiling was low, the 
floor broken in many parts, and full of filth, 
and the light streamed in in little rays through 
the closed but broken window-shutters. Alice 
saw a man lying drunk, with a deep cut in his 
head, and a rum-bottle in his hand, near the 
fireless old stove. She heard the piteous cries 
of a woman who sat on a wretched bed in a 
distant corner of the gloomy room, and she 
saw her pressing to her breast the body of a 
dead child. Her hair fell loose from beneath 
her cap ; her clothes were tattered, and her 
face, as she turned it towards Alice on her en- 
trance, streaming with tears, looked sad and 
wild. Traces of beauty remained upon it, but 
they were rendered dark and awful by the 
depth of her terror, misery, and despair. She 
arose from her posture, and came forward to 
Alice with her dead child. See,” said she, 

the darling of my heart has died from the 
hunger. It could not get from my breast the 
milk for its life. Not for two days past has a 
bit or a sup entered my mouth.” Alice’s eyes 
were filling with tears. She gazed on the 
drunkard, who was almost insensible, and ly- 
ing on the floor. ^‘Ah ! ” said the woman, “ he 
was once good, but misfortune has driven him 
wild.” 

“ Stay,” said Alice. “ I shall be back 


184 


Alice Harmon. 


soon.*' She went for a doctor, for provisions, 
and a priest. They came, and she had the 
joy to see health coming back again to the liv- 
ing, sickly tenants af that wretched abode. 
She came to see them again and again, 
and made the drunkard take the pledge, 
go to his duty, got him employed, and he and 
his wife had the satisfaction and delight to see 
their home exchanged for a better, and peace 
and plenty and joy existing amongst them as 
long as they lived, on account of the goodness 
and love of the Sister of Charity. Oh ! what 
beautiful crowns such heroines as Alice must 
have in the other life for their devotion in this 
towards God and the poor. What deep, in- 
delible marks they must leave behind them in 
the hearts and homes of those who are in- 
debted to their goodness and their love for 
their reformation and their attainment to the 
top of the mountain of joy I Oh ! do you who 
are rolling in wealth, and expending your 
money in foolish excesses, turn your eyes, like 
the Sisters of Charity, to the homes of the 
poor. Remember that a cup of cold water, giv- 
en in the name of the Author of life, will have 
its eternal reward. Give some of that which 
you would give to your horses and dogs to tlie 
starving poor in the garrets and cellars of 
the horrible tenements which abound in the 
town. Do this and you will put a check to 


Alice Har7non. 


185 

the advance of crime. The young thieves 
and murderers will be reformed. Instead of 
being a blot, a curse, and a shame to so- 
ciety, they will become a light, a blessing, 
and an honor to the land of their birth. The 
Tombs and Sing Sing will then need less 
keepers to guard them. The would-be thieves 
and murderers will grow honest, sober, and 
intelligent, and will cultivate a love for their 
families and homes. God will bring an in- 
crease of prosperity, peace, and joy upon the 
country, and the jaws of death and hell will 
not receive so many daily into their cursed 
embrace. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A DEATH-BED SCENE. 

UT Alice Harmon could not live much 
longer in the exercise of duties so 
severe upon her delicate frame. The 
labor of teaching, visiting, and mor- 
tifying herself in many ways was soon to end 
with a fever which cost her her life. In a room 
on the second floor of the sisters’ house, in the 

parish of St. Church, soft feet trod and 

low voices were heard around the bed of dying 
Alice. The poor came to the house continually 
to ask about her state, they loved her so well. 



Alice Harmon. 


1 86 

Her reputation for sanctity and virtue brought 
many priests and people around to see her ere 
she died. Father Marlow was there, and he 
watched with eager suspense every changing 
aspect in the person of her who was the only 
friend now left to him in this country, whom 
he had known in earlier years. Alice was not 
sorry for death to come. She welcomed it 
amidst her sighs and tears, because she knew 
that it would bring her to the heart of Jesus. 
She had the good sisters to read for her before 
she died. She was fond of thinking in silence 
of the beauty and affection of her God, and of 
dreaming over scenes to be soon passed in hea- 
ven amongst the friends whom she loved. The 
fever seized her whole body ; it sent its mad- 
dening fire through her veins, and made her 
feel a burning thirst. She clutched the cold 
part of the clothes again and again to give ease 
to her feverish hands, and she exulted at the 
thought of the delight which a bath in the 
river or sea would afford her. Nature tempted 
her to have recourse to those little means for 
relief ; but when she remembered herself, she 
banished such thoughts, and thanked the Lord 
God for afflicting her with the fever. As her 
spirit was hurrying fast in the evening to the 
glory of Christ, those in the room suddenly be- 
held a bright, golden light surrounding them, 
coming, as it did, from the street through the 


Alice Harmon. 


187 

window. They gazed out, and saw a frightful fire 
ascending from a house a block beyond. The 
red flames and the glistening sparks mounted 
over the tops of the surrounding buildings into 
the dark clouds, kissing the skies. There were 
shrieks of agony in the wind, and hundreds 
were rushing along the street to the scene of 
the fire. Some stood on the tops of the houses, 
and the red flames, falling on their forms, gave 
them the aspect of demons. The engines came 
along, whistling and steaming, to the scene of 
the fire. The water played in torrents on the 
rising flames, but this element seemed to give 
more spirit to the raging fire. Smoke and 
flame blended in the air, and threw partial light 
and shade over the scenes around. The people 
of the room held their breath, as they gazed, 
and the frightful aspect of the fire brought to 
their minds the terrors of hell. But Alice did 
not notice this swelling light, for her soul was 
steeped at this time in another scene. Her 
spirit passed to God amidst thanksgiving and 
prayer, and those eyes, that so often shone 
on the good and bad, were now closed for ever 
to the glory of day. The habit was put on her, 
a white rose that she loved was placed in her 
hand, and the lights around her bedside threw 
a pale splendor over the saintly, beautiful face 
now wrapt in death.. Now her soul mingled 
with the blest above, and it gazed with tender 


Alice Harmon. 


1 83 

consideration upon the eyes of those around 
her body, who shed such copious tears. Now 
she was interceding before the throne of Jesus 
for the poor whom she had loved. She was en- 
joying the full reward that she deserved for her 
pious, good years. The light of her spirit seem- 
ed to swell in on the hearts in the room ; they 
blessed her again and again, and expressed 
themselves sure that her soul was happy. Her 
body, now pale and lovely, beautiful temple of 
the spirit that had fled, was borne, after solemn 
ceremony, to the cemetery of Calvary, to be de- 
posited near her brother’s grave. The clay was 
thrown on the coffln, prayers were said, and 
the mourners returned to their homes, full 
of the thoughts and feelings that the memory 
of Alice’s life and death inspired. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

ITH the death of Alice the existence 
of the Harmon family ended in this 
life, and, as they are extinguished, so 
is our tale. In their history nothing 
very grand or wonderful is seen. They were a 
virtuous family, blessed by God, and were 
eager to serve him in the best way they could 



Alice Hannon. 


189 

in their various occupations in life’s scene. 
Their story has a counterpart in many families 
whose virtues are hidden from many an obser- 
ver in this strange life. Like the beggar 
spoken of by St. Francis of Sales, they wel- 
comed the rain and sunshine, joy and sadness, 
poverty and comfort, as all coming from the 
hand of God, and they blessed and praised his 
holy will at all times. As they lived, so did 
they die, happy and sweet, nourished, as they 
went, by the blood of God. We, too, can catch 
the same rich graces and joys as they did by 
doing good, by advancing ourselves and our 
neighbors in the love of God, by leading pure, 
sweet, holy lives, and by fixing our hearts, not 
on those treasures that will mould and rot, but 
on the immortal crowns, kingdoms, and gems 
beyond the skies. Let us serve our church and 
country as well as we can ; let us give light and 
clothing and food to the poor ; let us turn the 
dens of darkness into bright palaces, and never 
advance a step through this world without gaz- 
ing around us, and thinking and feeling that 
the objects God gave us were intended for no 
base gratification, but as a means for our sancti- 
fication, salvation, and joy. Then our lives will 
flow on happily. Death will bring no terrors 
to us Avhen it comes, and the hours of pain and 
sorrow will be turned^ in another land, into an 
eternity of rest and joy. 


Alice Harmon, 


190 

Father Marlow left America, and went to 
England, where he is now enjoying good 
health and favor amongst some fathers of the 
same order, and active as ever in the cause of 
justice, love, and truth. He visited again the 
old home of Dan Harmon, sat once more in 
the old curiosity-shop, where he gazed with 
satisfaction and delight on the open, smiling 
brow of Alice’s uncle, who was still as fresh 
and healthy as of old. His children grew up, 
and were about to enter on their various states 
of life. He did not find Father Virgilius ex- 
ercising his ministry any more in Shanagarry. 
He had gone to Cloyne, and another amiable 
and active clergyman had succeeded him. 
Father Virgilius found many warm friends and 
labored actively in St. Coleman’s town. Fa- 
ther Marlow saw with delight the beautiful 
changes that were made in the parish church. 
He was received by his clerical friend into a 
warmer dwelling and treated to choicer things 
than Shanagarry could afford. He gazed 
again with joy upon the sweet, broad smiles of 
Father Virgilius, heard his deep, rich voice, and 
viewed with pleasure the unchanged condition 
of his favorite stick — St. Coleman. They went 
together again on the beautiful southern beach, 
picked shells as of old, dug holes in the sand, 
bathed in the waves, and drank the salt water. 
They viewed the wild ducks swimming on the 


Alice Harmon, 


191 

face of the deep ; they saw the big sea-pigs 
jumping and bathing. They beheld the boats 
gliding softly and swiftly over the vast, sunny 
sea, and exulted with some others in fishing 
and sailing. The music of the waves against 
the cliffs fell as sweetly on their ears as of old ; 
the beautiful scenery around was more fondly 
cherished as the years rolled on ; and the 
simple, loving characters of the peasantry 
spoke sweetly to all of the treasures which 
God poured on that portion of Ireland. 



The Mother and her Dying Boy. 




‘.3 


aM^iHHToM aH-T ■ : 

r'c.v ?: ’ rari b[o aril ; 

., ■'-* ‘ *‘'r. ‘ • '.(It lil xl' >'j 

<rt»''arv: nue 'jiiT , c— d8i- 

' -, arl; ni e'ifloH :X 

■-. ^ :id'j !^vd gfr^nx; .t<i^>nd Jbt £IH -onl-jeijD 

, 1-:^ rr..';: j z4ful'^^nmni>iio 3jdi burai/iV b>flfV3vn ^ 

^Tp ':i, •; 3rir obnr.i^il lo xliuofi tjdi nt \ 3 . 

• i' 'b ;?/io-fl£ ix fanuo-rxi ^boow srfi 
. i^iC >i)d hs'.d :>p.' ])(v ,sijp 2 a'it;jojq tixlT A' 

jf ^'i^y/' 'ooxP: i-jdij^ sio c:)eiJod Dd'I.' -.iosiisrobiw ' 
v b^>iooi- hnr. ,asia ^ifiisbom 1o , : 

; " /Jo v-Dn3:/eifrro:tgx:q pxiT .viJoiq 

. q"-'a bood,. 

•h-'n v/6vol bt'l3fij>xn-xvi i-boov/ 3 

. ' fb-j.riDT.i bn£ ,S7/objS3iTrJJaB'i§r,*fl ^neb 

/, ’jaian^d/ be-rmoJ i^dJogoi boquoig' 

cf/v/ fi •f’iyj io 'ccC'iiUile xiBfiibio arlT:. . 
f :^rij lo -JOft^j^oiq odl x^ 

.7if: ijo rj:v!ori ‘liaih ff.ai} ontxjD odv/ ^slqos)q - .Ai 
^ ' ■ pd? lb ^bnqUl ti'jffj fljiv/ OtiisvnoD oi dWd/ia - ,.y 

^« *, ' , .i!:;n'xH*^*" jffiob iTXi,:>{ brih , j-ohuiv 



The Mother and her Dying Boy. 


CHAPTER I. 

S the old story has it, it was a love- 
ly evening in the month of June, 
1 86 — . The sun was just retiring 

to his golden home in the west, and 
casting his full, bright beams over the sweet 
river that watered the charming little town of 

C , in the South of Ireland. The tops of 

the woods around it shone in the mellow light. 
This picturesque village had but one large, 
wide street. The houses on either side were 
of moderate size, and looked exceedingly 
pretty. The pastoral scenery of the neighbor- 
hood was delightfully varied.. Cascades, deep 
woods, ivy-mantled castles, lovely rivers, ver- 
dant hills, fragrant meadows, and orchards 
grouped together formed the charming scene. 
The ordinary stillness of the town was broken 
by the presence of the gaily-dressed country 
people, who came from their fields on the 
Sabbath to converse with their friends in the 
village, and learn some news. The rich, deep 



196 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

tones of the church-bell floated over the tops 
of the houses and trees, filling the air Avith its 
sweet power. On a seat in a garden which 
was attached to a pretty house that was in the 
centre of the village a beautiful youth was re^ 
dining. He looked as if twelve summers had 
flown over his radiant features. As his little 
form rested on a rustic chair, and his head fell 
backwards on an elevated support behind him, 
he appeared a model of angelic delicacy, love, 
and grace. His little arms hung moderately 
by his side. His head was uncovered. Down 
his white, soft, swelling neck a luxuriant little 
bush of auburn ringlets waved most gracefully. 
His little brow was finely shaped, and seemed 
to indicate a rare intelligence. His complex- 
ion was ruddy and clear. His whole features 
conveyed an expression of such supernatural 
sweetness that one would feel disposed to 
mistake him for some spirit of light transfigur- 
ed into a beautiful mortal. At one time a 
smile passed over his lovely lips like a sunbeam 
alighting on an opening rosebud. His little 
breast throbbed with additional ardor. To 
see him at that time, one would have thought 
that his soul was steeped in a heavenly trance. 
A charming little dog lay sleeping by his 
chair. The air all around was bright with 
the sun, and flashed here and there with tlie 
gleaming of insects, whilst the numerous hot- 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 197 

beds of flowers made it sweet with their odors. 
The tall elm-trees that lined the rear wall of 
the garden waved their fresh green foliage in 
the golden light, whilst the sweet notes of ro- 
bins, sparrows, and thrushes gushed out from 
their thick-curtained branches. The butterfly- 
fluttered her bright little wings in the sunset, 
whilst over the fair scene the blue sky 
above looked down in its wonderful beauty. 

A dark form came at this time to the gate 
of the garden. It was a female. She glanced 
again and again around, as if in search of 
some object. At last it caught her view, 
and she went towards it with quick and 
eager step. On a nearer approach, her figure 
presented an interesting and dignified aspect. 
She seemed to be fifty years old. She was 
of the middle height, thin, and well pro- 
portioned. Her face^ looked pale and pre- 
possessing. It wore an expression of mourn 
ful tenderness. In that countenance the stu- 
dent of the human heart could see a soul that 
burned with the strongest and the purest af- 
fections. Her hair was dark, and her blue 
eyes looked soft and luminous. She -was 
dressed entirely in black. The noise of her 
footsteps awoke the little dog, who bounded 
playfully towards his tender mistress. The 
beautiful child looked as calm and as bright 
as before. The divine placidity of his face 


198 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

arrested the lady’s attention. She gazed 
upon him whilst his pure, infant soul spoke 
in dreams with the angels. Admiration and 
holy joy beamed on her own countenance, 
whilst her eyes and soul were riveted on the 
wonderful charms of her little son. As she 
bent over his fair brow, one could see that 
kindred looks beamed on their faces. She 
called him gently by his name. 

“Willie, Willie Willow.” 

He did not hear her. The spirit of holy 
love feasted his soul too deeply to wake at that 
single sound. The mother listened with thrills 
of joy to his soft, slow breathings. She parted 
his glossy, auburn locks, then glanced with a 
smile, quivered with a sigh of love, and im- 
printed a kiss on his soft little cheek, which 
the bright sun was mellowing. 

“ Willie Willow,” she cried once more, 
“ come, come to the rosary.” 

The fair little cherub awoke from his trance 
at that sound, opened his pretty blue eyes, 
and jum.ped from his chair to the ground, when 
the arms of his mother received him. 

“ O darling mother! ” he said, “ come, come 
to the rosary,” 

The delighted parent pressed that lovely 
boy to her heart, and bore him along to the 
house, whilst her kisses and tears bedewed his 
fair countenance. Her affection for that child 


TJic Mother and her Dying Boy. 199 

had ripened into a passion which nothing could 
control. He was the idol of her dreams. She 
would never quit his side or let him' leave her, 
unless some extraordinary circumstance inter- 
fered. She would sit for hours beside him, 
gazing admiringly and adoringly in his eyes, 
whilst her soul feasted on their magic beauty. 
Her passion was the real romance of love, and 
its object truly merited this idolatry. Her child 
possessed a kind of a charmed existence. Even 
at his tender age he showed a wonderful love 
for nature. He loved his mother next to 
God. His soul was nearly always dwelling on 
things eternal. He loved his generous father 
next to his mother, his sister, whom a slow 
disease was wasting, and his dark-souled 
brother too. He was the light of their quiet 
home. All loved to place him in the centre of 
the family circle by the lamp-light, and listen to 
his holy, innocent sayings. His mother would 
sit quite near, her arm encircling his little 
neck, whilst she read the depths of his angelic 
soul through those eyes of light and loveliness. 
His presence shed a nameless charm over the 
happy group. He would saunter with his 
mother, on a calm summer’s afternoon, through 
the lovely fields and woodlands of the neigh- 
borhood. He would salute all he knew, as 
they passed, very kindly, and they, in return, 
would smilingly say, “ Good-afternoon, Willie.” 


200 The Mother ayid her Dying Boy, 

He thanked God for all the beauties that he 
saw in his rambles, pressed his mother’s hands, 
and reclined upon her bosom. The sigh of a 
leaf in the wind would touch his tender heart. 
The chirp of a robin at hand would fill him 
with love. The smell of a rose, or the smile 
of a child, or the swell of a song on his walk 
would fill him with joy. His simple and inno- 
cent talk was enriched by the spirit of devo- 
tion that ran through it. The happy mother 
Avould listen and applaud whilst Willie was 
speaking. 

At home by the fireside, in the street or 
the garden, he was always the same ; but in 
church he seemed, in truth, etherealized. There 
he was so silent and so calm and modest that 
one could not discover his ecstasies and joys. 
His piety was not of that vehement and con- 
suming kind that characterized so many of 
the saints, but it was evident in his deeply- 
absorbed manner and in his loolcs of burning 
love. His little hands shaded his brow to 
keep his mind buried in divine contemplation. 
The lustre of his soft blue eyes was curtained 
by their lids of snowy beauty. His features 
glowed with heaven’s calm smile. His spirit 
viewed the Lord in his sacred grandeur, veiled 
in the tabernacle. He saw him now pale- 
looking, mournfully beautiful, with his lovely 
body crimsoned with his precious blood. He 


The Mother and Jier Dying Boy. 201 

saw him lashed and torn and spat upon by the 
cruel soldiers. Again he saw him gazing on 
his dark torrtientors with looks of pity and 
love. He saw those horrors magnified in the 
tragic picture of the crucifixion, the aspect of 
torn nature, the agony of Mary, and the scoffs 
and hisses of the furious mob. But if Jesus 
mocked, insulted, and crucified grieved him 
deeply, the glorified aspect of his Saviour at 
the end of this grand triumph filled his spirit 
with joy. He looked on Mary’s peaceful 
beauty to check the vehemence of his delight. 
He thought he heard her sweet voice speaking 
to him. He felt its power dissolving his very 
soul. He let his heart go out of his being, 
and rest in the bosom of Mary. His ordinary 
smiles glowed with redoubled beauty each 
time he left the church. His friends saw this, 
and loved him all the more. 

A half-witted creature who lived in that 
region regarded Willie with great affection. 
Though the creature looked upon all around 
with charity and kindness, still, when sudden 
fits of wild humor seized him, he would grow 
stiff and cold, and treat his warmest friends 
with haughtiness. But his love for Willie re- 
mained always unchanged. 

Whenever Carl of the Hills, as he was called, 
visited the house of the Willows, he was sure 
to be cordially received. He was tall and thin, 


202 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

with a comical face and a sallow complexion. 
The singularity of his appearance occasioned 
the humorous much food for merriment. This 
family pitied the poor fellow’s wants, and 
were always quite willing to ease them. 
Willie would take Carl to himself, and gaze on 
his features with his clear, fine eyes, whilst he 
spoke to him in a tone of pious gravity. Carl 
would listen patiently, then burst into a loud 
laugh, and embrace little Willie. He would 
tell him to continue, because he loved him 
dearly, and his sayings were very grand. 
Willie Willow would proceed to speak of God, 
the Blessed Virgin, and the beauty of the 
universe. The earnestness of soul that the 
little fellow poured into his language claimed 
the attention of the witless Carl in spite of 
himself. A gleam of calm delight would 
steal over his mournful face as he listened. 
Willie would glance upon him with winning 
tenderness, and then an exchange of cor-, 
dialities would take place. 

The mother would advance and smooth the 
ruddy cheeks of her soft, sweet boy. Carl would 
sound a bugle that hung from his side, and 
dance to the air of some lively song. When 
he had refreshed his voice and body by indulg- 
ing in some food, he then began to entertain 
his hearers by imaginary tales of burnings, mur- 
ders, rapines, and abductions which he said 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 203 

occurred in the neighborhood. As he was a sin- 
cere advocate of Fenianism, which then prevail- 
ed in Ireland, he was about to inveigh against 
the constables with his accustomed fierceness 
when a look of prohibition from Willie checked 
him. He then rambled off into another strain 
of humor, and said that as he was now a lord, 
he would hold splendid banquets in the eve- 
nings, and invite the country to behold him in 
his robes of grandeur. A loud, sharp laugh 
would end these mental wanderings. He 
would then sit down by Willie, press his hand 
in his, and kiss him on the cheek. These 
meetings were as beautiful as they were touch- 
ing. Soon half-witted Carl of the Hills was 
not the only being whom Willie’s meekness, 
piety, and love drew towards him. The neigh- 
bors around would come to see him, whilst 
many amongst them would beg of his mother 
to let him go with them, even for a little while. 
His name was a household word amongst them 
all. He was the model of virtue and sanctity 
whom mothers held up for their children to 
imitate. Even amongst the wildest youths 
Willie Willow was loved. Those who cursed 
and spoke indecently became silent and sorrow- 
ful when Willie’s name was heard. Though he 
never moved amongst .such boys in play, still 
he often met them, and then his winning smiles 
and friendly greetings made them regard him 


204 Mother and her Dying Boy, 

with tenderness and love. Nor did Willie’s 
intellectual character yield to his moral worth. 
The powers of his memory were indeed as- 
tonishing in one so young, and such was the 
quickness of his intellect that he readily com- 
prehended some of the most abstruse explana- 
tions. He had a great desire for sacred know- 
ledge ; his favorite book was the Bible ; the 
lives of the saints also, and other spiritual 
works, delighted his soul. He used to make 
his mother glad by relating the anecdotes 
that he read. His eyes would beam with un- 
earthly lustre when he spoke of the burning 
fervor of the anchorite ‘and the generous sacri- 
fices that the martyrs endured for God. He 
spoke of the glories of heaven with such 
earnestness, and pictured its sweet scenes so 
vividly, that his mother would almost swoon 
on his bosom with joy. Thus those two lived, 
bound by a tie of the noblest affection. The 
splendor of Willie’s talents was recognized at 
school by the pastor, his tutor, and fellow- 
students. His diligence was adequate to his 
genius. He would rise from his bed, when his 
brother slept, at five in the morning, and pore 
over his studies and prayers till breakfast. He 
was careful to do this as secretly as possible, 
lest his favorite occupation would be inter- 
rupted, or the nobleness of the action would 
excite any praise. Such was Willie Willow — - 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 205 

a being whom nobody could look upon or talk 
to without adoring. He was mild, meek, hum- 
ble, generous, and full of love. 


CHAPTER II. 

EN Mrs. Willow quitted the garden 
on that day with her lovely little 
boy, she passed by a pretty lane, and 
soon reached a chamber in her house, 
where the rest of the family were seated. They 
were just prepared to say the rosary. A delicate 
maiden lay on an easy chair in one corner of 
the apartment ; her face looked pale and worn, 
but it was mild and pleasing in its expression, 
without being eminently handsome ; a smile of 
placid joy illumined her cheek, which disease 
was fast wasting. As Willie entered, she turn- 
ed around, glanced at him with a smile of love, 
and gently bade him welcome. Willie rushed 
towards her, and kissed her withering cheek. 

Darling sister! ” said he, “ how do you feel this 
evening? ” 

“ Something better, thank God, my lovely 
boy,” she answered. 

The father, a man of middle years, approach- 
ed the pair and blessed them with a tremulous 
voice of fondness. He saw the bright rose and 
the pale lily mingling side by side. He turned 




2o6 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

away and wept. Willie rushed towards him, 
and tried to soothe his grief by words of love 
and gladness. 

A dark youth of fourteen years sat in the 
room, looking out of the window. He did not 
seethe touching scene behind him ; hissoul was 
wandering far away from that touching picture 
of domestic love. The boy possessed a noble 
heart, but his character was very inconsistent. 
He had a great love for the abstract. There 
were times when this feeling would so fill his 
heart as to make him unconscious of every- 
thing around him. He was gifted with a ro- 
mantic spirit, and this was increased by his 
acquaintance with the finest poetical writers. 
He was exceedingly fond of conjuring up wild 
images, and his chief joy was derived from 
meditating on the horrible. Though his brow 
was naturally fair, his eyes mild, and his fea- 
tures in general calm and pleasing, still his soul 
was often subject to abrupt and vehement fits of 
anger. He was jealous, though generous to a 
fault, and exceedingly sensitive on points of pro- 
priety and honor. He was capable of high and 
original designs. He was sanguine in his friend- 
ships, and his love often prompted him to 
endure many self-sacrifices. When his hatred 
was aroused, it might continue for a short time, 
but his better nature would soon subdue that 
fierce affection. He was a slave to literature; 


The Mother and Jur Dying Boy, 207 

he thought all other occupations tedious and 
dull in the light of that lovely pursuit. All the 
efforts of his parents could not avail in divert- 
ing him from his excessive labors. He would 
wander through the woods, and sit for hours 
reading Schiller’s “ Robbers,” whilst his eyes 
flashed, his brain burned, and his blood boiled. 

Walter and Willie were entirely opposed to 
each other in their tastes, thoughts, and fan- 
cies. One loved only to regard the wildest 
features of nature, and adored God in the black 
clouds, the wild sea, the thunder, the light- 
ning, the mountains, and the tempests ; whilst 
the other not only praised and esteemed his 
Creator in these, but took an especial delight 
in praising his power and his love as revealed 
in the bright sun, the calm lakes, the meadows, 
the blue skies, and other objects of beauty and 
peace that came under his senses. Willie was 
as mild as Walter was violent ; he was as dis- 
interested as the other was selfish ; he was as 
humble as Walter was proud ; and as obedient 
as his brother was headstrong. He was as for- 
giving as Walter was revengeful, and never 
looked on the cruel or kind but with his usual 
smiles of love. Walter, when carried away by 
his temper, would sometimes strike his brother 
sharply. Willie would look upon him mourn- 
fully and imploringly, whilst his tears flowed 
fast. This was a sight that the darkest heart 


2o8 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

could not see without being moved. Walter 
would then cry and smile, ask Willie’s forgive- 
ness and press him to his bosom. 

Such was the character of that strange, 
wild boy. The broken sobs of his father now 
awoke him from his reverie. He went towards 
him, and tried with Willie to soften his distress. 
When his grief passed away, the family then 
knelt before the Lord and prayed. It was 
beautiful to see that peaceful group engaged in 
simple adoration, their hearts inflamed with 
earnest faith and love. How many fond, 
sweet thoughts would strike the Catholic heart 
at such a time ! And this was homage to J esus 
and Mary, whose beauty and goodness the hu- 
man soul can scarcely conceive. She seemed 
to shed her happy smiles upon the kneeling 
family, they looked so joyful and they prayed 
so fervently. Oh ! it is a beautiful thing to 
see religion thus purifying and ennobling hu- 
man hearts, to see it infusing love and joy 
into the souls of men. It cheers the hearts of 
the just with hopes of grand rewards. It un- 
veils to men the image of virtue adorned with 
the rarest and purest charms. It snatches 
from the statue of vice its gaudy robe, and 
exhibits it to the soul of man in its blackest 
horrors. Religion itself bends over the radi- 
ant form of virtue like a deity enthroned 
amidst amazing splendors. Perfumed showers 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 209 

of divine freshness fall from around her seat, 
and rest on the brow of the goddess of Virtue, 
enhancing her light and her beauty. Religion 
is a smile from God. Virtue is a beam that 
springs from that bright smile. When their 
prayer was over, the family arose with more 
enlightened minds and happier hearts. 

Maria felt stronger and her face looked 
more joyous than before. Willie felt ethereal- 
ized, and made all happier still by his lovely say- 
ings and looks. That evening passed delight- 
fully, and morning came, and many others fol- 
lowed in its track. Months rolled away and be- 
held Maria Willow sinking. She suffered from 
a tedious malady. It was bronchitis, which 
resulted from a heavy and neglected cold. No- 
thing but a pitiful wreck of what had been 
once a pleasing form now remained. This 
malady weakened her soft, sweet voice, paled 
her rosy cheeks, stole a glory from her eyes, 
and thinned her tender frame. Oh ! it is a sad 
and pitiful thing to see a being of so much 
moral purity, mental strength, angelic temper, 
and pious belief fading like a summer flower 
in the bloom and vigor of her years. 

The fears of the Willows were now increas- 
ing. Doubt appeared on every face. Even 
Walter, in all his darkness of soul, could not 
look upon the withering features of his generous 
sister without feeling his head and bis heart 


210 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

growing sick with pain. But how did little 
Willie, who had a soul so susceptible of love, re- 
gard the aspect of his dying sister ? He knew 
that she whom he loved would soon be torn 
from his little arms, and this thought filled 
his tender heart with anguish. But he looked 
upon it as the will of God, and was resigned 
to it. He knew his sister was pure and holy, 
and that she would go to heaven when she 
died, so he felt easy. He often sat by Maria 
now, and spoke to her of paradise. Her pale 
face brightened, as she listened to the inspired 
language of the little saint. As he gazed on 
Maria, his soul overflowed with love and de- 
votion. His eyes swelled with tears and his 
hands were uplifted, as the fire of Maria’s eyes 
went into his heart. His mother came and 
added to the pathos of the picture by the sighs 
that escaped from her bursting heart. But a 
word and a look from Willie were enough to 
make her remember that she should feel re- 
signed to the will of the Almighty. 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 21 1 


CHAPTER III. 

HILST the Willows were plunged in 
this sad situation, their country was 
on the eve of some great political 
change. The spirit of revolution 
was abroad, and the agents of Fenianism were 
busily at work. This organization had its se- 
cret representatives in many a land. In the 
bosom of the noble forests of the great west- 
ern republic, in its crowded cities and its ver- 
dant fields, the partisans of Fenianism were to 
be found. Its influence travelled with electric 
speed over bright southern seas to beautiful 
Australia, where it found its resting-place in 
kindred hearts. Even in the country whose 
constitution it labored to destroy the agents 
of this great society were rife and active. In 
the busy thoroughfares of populous London, 
amidst its subterranean dens, and on the sur- 
face of its lively river, young lovers of national 
liberty planned their rebellious schemes. Be- 
neath the gloomy coal-pits of the northern 
shires this spirit beat in the hearts of Ireland’s 
sons. In the land of its hopes and its love 
there were young and old enthusiasts whose 
bosoms burned with patriotic fire. The barony 
in which the Willows lived cherished many a 
brave young heart like Allen, Larkin, and 



2 1 2 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

O'Brien, whose memories Ireland shall ever 
love. At this time the whole country was 
plunged into a state of intense excitement. 
The wealthy of the land feared an outbreak, 
since they had much to lose. The represent- 
ed strength of this confederacy occasioned them 
just alarm ; still, they might have felt less un- 
easy, as the consequences proved. The middle 
classes were more indifferent than the higher, 
as they had less to lose ; but the poor exulted 
both at the hope of seeing themselves freed 
from British tyranny, as well as at the chances 
of finding their fortunes bettered with the 
freedom of their beloved isle. The majority 
of the clergy took the most sensible side of 
the question, as they clearly foresaw the dan- 
gers and ruin of the Fenian conspiracy. Many 
of the leaders were false, and made great for- 
tunes by their treacherous dealings ; others 
were true, and served with honor in foreign 
fields, while they showed, by their eloquence 
and manner at their trials in the dock, that 
they were worthy and willing to suffer for Ire- 
land. 

The spring was now beginning to exert its 
growing power, and the close of February wit- 
nessed many heavy, rainy days ; still, those 
damp times did not change the ardent spirits 
of the Fenian brotherhood in that neighbor- 
hood. The young, hardy, and stalwart pea- 


213 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

santry and tradesmen in the vicinity held their 
usual' midnight meetings adjoining some dark 
wood or in some sequestered valley. Here 
the drill exercise was performed with military 
exactness, and in the solemn darkness of the 
hour those men worked on with a strong and 
heroic purpose. Their hearts burned with that 
desire of vengeance which long periods of 
oppression excite. They looked upon Eng- 
land with as much hatred and rage as a mother 
would regard the tiger that had killed and 
eaten her child. The songs of their native 
land which told the story of its wrongs and 
sorrows increased this feeling in their breasts. 
Though badly armed and poorly disciplined, 
still their sanguine hopes impressed them with 
the belief that they would yet achieve great 
wonders. A friend to the cause could con- 
jecture, from the spirit of the brotherhood, that 
the hour which marked the great revolutionary 
move was fast approaching. The world out- 
side their circle, with few exceptions, were ig- 
norant of the actual moment when the first 
explosion would break forth. Though fresh 
reports of the capture of arms and the ar- 
rest of suspected persons were communicated 
through the country, still no armed rising of 
any importance yet took place. At last the 
hearts of the people were excited to frenzy 
on the morning of the sixth of March, 1867, 


214 Mother and her Dying Boy, 

by the startling accounts of the insurrection 
of the previous night that filled every home 
in the country. 


CHAPTER IV. 

VENING was sinking fast into night 
on the fifth of March, when the 
Willow family were gathered around 
the dying-bed of their beloved 
Maria in one of the chambers fronting the lit- 
tle town. There were tears in every eye that 
night, and a sorrow too deep for words depicted 
on many a tender countenance. The object of 
their love and grief lay on her bed of pain, with 
a deadly pallor on her features. Her eyes shed 
a feeble beam as pure as the soul that gave it 
meaning. Her breath came short and fast. Her 
soul was going fast to the home of its dreams 
and its love. Still, in the depth of her bodily 
agony it seemed to retain all its light and tran- 
quillity. She uttered a few expressions indis- 
tinctly. Their meaning escaped the sorrowful 
group. She clutched the bed-clothes with her 
wasting hands, through which the blue veins 
were running. Her eyes were all this time 
gazing upwards. At last she turned them 
round, and glanced, with a look of passionate 
sweetness, towards her brother Willie. His 



The Mother and her Dying Boy. 215 

quick ears heard her ask for the crucifix in the 
midst of her mother’s sighs. He ran to present 
it to her, whilst a smile of heavenly joy illumined 
his features. She took it calmly, and pressed 
it passionately to her lips. When this was 
done, she raised her eyes to heaven with a look 
of adoring love. The slightest trace of a fond 
tear glistened near her eye. 

The mother’s heart was torn with sorrow, 
and Willie was trying to subdue her grief. 

“Ah! mamma,” he cried, “ look at the face 
of my sister, radiant with the joy of the angels. 
Her happy soul will soon behold them. Let 
me press you to my heart, and wipe away your 
tears, O my fondest mother ! ” 

Walter looked at this from the darkest corner 
of the chamber ; but he quickly turned away 
his glances, as an inward agony was consuming 
his heart. It was the first dying-bed he had 
ever witnessed. Accustomed hitherto to lux- 
uriate in the beautiful realms of thought, he 
was ignorant of the sorrows of real life until 
this moment. The influence of a pure, prac- 
tical religion now worked upon his heart. The 
thought that his dear sister would soon leave 
him for ever was too terrible to realize, and yet 
he saw the awful truth confirmed by her rapid 
gaspings, her sinking eyes, and her quivering 
lips. “ O God ! ” he cried, whilst his agony 
appeared in his face, “ give me my darling sis- 


2. 1 6 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

ter, if it be thy will.” His looks now became 
distracted, but his fancy pictured beautiful, 
holy scenes. The dark images in which he 
lately indulged vanished from his soul, and in 
the sweet light of his sister’s smile he now saw 
angelic love reposing. His fancy mounted on 
its wing of light, and he beheld the Virgin 
Mother, with her radiant court, illumining the 
couch of the dying girl with their sunny glory. 
His soul exulted at seeing their beauty. “ Oh ! 
surely,” he cried, “ it is no loss to her wearied 
spirit to fly to those forms of light. Be ever 
present to my soul, ye lovely visions, and come, 
my sister, when you meet those happy bands, 
to your distracted brother when he is dark and 
lonely.” Thus did Walter sigh and wander. 

Grief stupefied the father’s brain, and he 
wandered through the darkened chambers like 
one without sense or feeling. At one time he 
would sit in the gloom, and bury his head in 
his hands. “ ’Tis but a dream,” he then would 
cry ; “ it is not true. My darling Maria is not 
going to leave me. But, O my God ! her 
withering cheek belies me.” His wanderings 
led him to the door of the house, that opened 
on the street. It was now midnight, and as he 
stared out on the little town, which a few 
stars slightly brightened, his ears were quickly 
arrested by a band of people coming up the 
street. The noise of some wagons joined in 


TJie Mother and her Dying Boy. 217 

with the military tramp of the body that he 
saw advancing. He saw the bayonets and 
drawn swords gleam as the men came on ; but 
he heard no voices. The truth rushed at once 
to his mind. Even in his sad distractions he 
suspected that the Fenians were advancing to 
attack the barrack of the town. He rushed 
quickly back, and carried the news to those in 
the chamber of his dying daughter. 

Had an earthquake convulsed the dwelling 
that moment, and swallowed its inmates be- 
neath the dark ruins, it would scarcely have 
caused more terror and wonder than this news 
produced. 

Mrs. Willow, with some friends who came 
that night to share her sorrows, screamed aloud 
when they heard of it. 

“ My God ! ” cried the mother, “ this will 
hasten the death of my darling Maria. Hark! 
though the wild wind roars against the window, 
I can hear their wild shouts outside. Heaven 
be praised ! they are firing at the barrack now.” 

It was quite true. The Fenians had by this 
time reached the police station, which stood 
opposite the house of the Willows. Their 
number only amounted to forty or fifty. The 
majority of the band remained at the lower 
end of the town, as they considered their ser- 
vices unnecessary that night. It would appear 
that the police anticipated this attack, as they 


2I8 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

were well prepared to give their assailants a 
warm reception. Their doors and windows 
were strongly fortified. From a small aperture 
in the end of the building and close to the roof 
they discharged their muskets on the wild be- 
siegers. The Fenian band, with all the violence 
of disappointed rage, dashed the butts of their 
fire-arms against the door of the barrack, and 
called loudly on the inmates to surrender. Balls 
flew through the windows, crashing the glass 
into fragments, and loud cries of vengeance 
rang out on the street of the sleeping town. A 
random ball from the barrack window bounded 
over the air, and lodged in the wall of the dying 
girl’s chamber. “ O heaven ! ” cried the distress- 
ed mother, “ we are surely lost, and my darling 
Maria is expiring.” Unhappily, it was true. 
Maria turned around with a dying glare in her 
eye ; but all at once she seemed to revive a 
little, whilst her voice appeared to retain some 
power. 

“Willie! Mother!” she said. 

The little beauty brought his face, now wet 
with tears, in contact with his sister’s. “ Yes, 
my loving Maria,” sighed the sorrowing boy. 

“ What noise is that ? ” she asked. 

“ It is the Fenians, that have come to take 
the barrack and save our land,” he replied. 

“ God bless them, and you, and all the rest ! ” 
she said. “ I am going to the home of my love 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 2 19 

and my joy. Darlings, farewell.” Her feeble 
hand fell back on the pillow. She kissed the 
crucifix again and again, and would not relin- 
quish it. She glanced towards heaven with a 
smile of the greatest delight and love. 

At last her quivering lids grew stiff and cold 
outside those eyes whose gentle beams were 
quenched for ever. . The crucifix dropped 
from her lifeless hand. Her spirit bounded 
exultingly from its temple of clay, and, already 
drunk ‘with the odors of heaven’s incense, it 
yielded to the softness of angels’ embraces, and 
was borne along to its home of undying joy. 
A loud discharge of arms arose outside at the 
same time. Thundering batteries followed 
against the doors and windows. Loud roars 
succeeded, and torches blazed in that awful 
midnight. Maria’s father approached her life- 
less form, gazed long and wildly on her marble 
brow, which angelic calmness had beautified 
even in death, and addressed it in trembling 
and abstracted tones. The mother felt a 
pressing weight upon her heart. She saw her 
husband bending over her dying child, his 
bosom throbbing with a sorrow too deep and 
wild for tears. She grasped the cold hand of 
her Maria, and fondly called on her sweet name. 
The confusion and uproar that prevailed in 
the street, the stray and rapid gleams of light 
that swept past the window, and the awful 


220 The Mother ajid her Dying Boy. 

silence of her husband’s sorrow, burst irL,upon 
her swelling heart, and caused her to give it re- 
lief by shedding a torrent of burning tears. 

Little Willie all this time had his head re- 
clining on the pillow of his dead sister, but 
his soul was feeding with silent ecstasy on the 
beauty of heavenly scenes. His mind seemed 
unconscious of the sorrowful drama around 
him. He saw the beautiful soul of his sister 
revelling in the joys of angelic society. He 
saw Maria’s soul sharing in the smiles of the 
Blessed Virgin, and his kind little heart was 
filled with gladness. Wave upon wave of 
glorious revealings beat on the shore of the 
soul of that wonderful boy. There were a 
sanctity and a glory in his look that charmed 
and soothed the heart of his parents, as they 
glanced from the corpse to that heavenly child. 
His eyelids were closed. He saw them not. 
Were it not for that smile on his lips and that 
glow on his cheek, they would have thought 
that his soul had attended his sister’s in its 
upward flight. 

“ Willie, love,” said the mother, and she 
shook him very tenderly. 

“ Oh ! sweet is her joy,” he abstractedly 
cried. 

“ Willie, darling,” his mother again re- 
peated. 

“ Yes, dearest mamma,” cried the holy boy, 


221 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

opening his eyes, and smiling more brightly. 
“Why do you weep and sigh ? ” 

“ Oh! see your dead sister, sweet boy,” she 
replied. 

He turned his eyes upon the corpse. He 
bent over his sister, and flooded her lifeless 
cheek with his kisses and tears. He sobbed 
aloud. His parents joined in the mournful 
plaint. He turned around, whilst words of 
consolation mingled with his sighs. 

“I thank God,” cried he, “her spirit has 
had a happy release. Oh 1 if you had seen the 
beautiful vision of Maria’s soul in heaven that 
I beheld, your hearts would burst with very 
joy. She is indeed no more. Her lips no 
longer brighten our souls with their lovely 
smiles. Her eyes have lost their light, my 
mother ; but, oh 1 think of her soul on high, 
and give joy to the Lord. Those wild bursts 
of sorrow are not needed, my mother. They 
will only make Maria sad. Let us lift our 
souls to God in this sorrowful hour, and he 
will make us resigned and happy.” 

Thus did little Willie try to cheer and con- 
sole his afflicted parents. His father heard his 
words, but did not understand him. He was 
too full of sorrow, and now and then a tear 
would drop from his eye, as a sigh escaped his 
bosom. After patting the smooth, pale cheeks 
of his dead child, and smoothing her long, 


222 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

clammy hair with a touching tenderness, a wild 
groan escaped him, and he quitted the room. 

Walter was all this time sobbing and dream- 
ing with his head on his hands ; but his musings 
were soon aroused by the thundering noise of 
a desperate volley between the police and 
rebels in the street. 

One loud scream rang out from a multitude 
of throats on the cold night wind, awakening 
the inmates of the neighboring dwellings from 
their deep slumbers. The cries outside grew 
louder and more angry. The breeze swept by 
the windows with a fiercer power, whilst the 
terrors of those in the dead-room augmented. 
Walter rushed from his seat to the window. 
His bosom thrilled with grief and a wild, patri- 
otic enthusiasm. He drew the shutters back, 
and gazed out on the cold, dark night, which 
was every moment becoming wilder and wilder. 
The stars by degrees withdrew their lustre. 
The wind roared with the fiercest power. The 
trees shook their branches violently. The loose 
bricks on some chimney-tops became looser, 
and fell with a crash on the roofs of the houses. 
The rooks that were perched on the trees that 
encircled the adjoining churchyard croaked and 
swung on their frail habitations. 

The Fenians lost a brother, who fell mortally 
wounded by a ball that came from the small 
aperture on the top of the constables’ building. 


223 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

He was their leader, too. When this disaster 
fell upon the band, their rage became un- 
bounded. They groaned and roared, and 
smashed in fragments the glass in the barrack 
windows. They thundered at the door, but 
its strong framework never yielded. They 
raised loud screams of rage and of disappoint- 
ment. As their ammunition was spent at this 
time, and as they saw that little hope remained 
of effecting an entrance, they retired from the 
field, leaving their dead brother behind them. 
Gray dawn was now dispelling the shadows that 
lately gloomed over the house-tops of the town. 
Those whom terror confined to their homes a 
few hours before now ventured forth into the 
windy street to learn the effects of the recent 
encounter. Bewildered and trembling, they 
drew near the barrack in groups, and saw, to 
their horror and grief, large blotches of blood 
here and there on the pavement. The marks 
of the balls on the walls and the ruined state 
of the windows confirmed their fears and 
surmises. 

Meanwhile, the Willow family became more 
moderate in their grief. The poor mother 
never ceased to pray witli the deepest fervor 
for the soul of her departed Maria. Willie 
joined with no less ardor. The father wan- 
dered, silent and distracted, through the house. 
Walter grew impatient, and wished to view the 


224 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

effects of the late assault. He turned his steps 
to the barrack, and heightened the grief of the 
paralyzed crowd that were standing around by 
reporting the death of his well-beloved sister. 
Friends rushed from this scene of horror to 
the gloomy chamber of the Willows to soothe 
the troubled family and proffer their deepest 
sympathies. Walter soon entered the hall of 
the station. There he saw the' form of a young 
and handsome man stretched on the floor be- 
fore him. His person was horribly disfigured. 
The warm blood had scarcely yet ceased to flow 
from his deadly wounds. An expression of the 
most touching melancholy, sanctified by a smile 
which sprang from a consciousness of patriot 
martyrdom, gave a heavenly effect to the pla- 
cidity of his white, marble countenance. His 
features were regular and mild. His brow 
looked intellectual. His dark-brown hair was 
clotted with blood which flowed from a wound 
near his temple. He wore a plain uniform, 
consisting of a green jacket embroidered with 
yellow fringe, and encircled by a belt, from 
which a pistol depended. Pants of the same 
material were half concealed by large boots 
that reached the knees. A sash of green and 
gold passed over the shoulders, and hung at 
the waist, to indicate his rank of captain. 

The bystanders gazed with sympathy and 
horror at the figure of that fine, manly youth, 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 225 

whose lamp of life was so soon extinguished. 
The knowledge of his heroic, patriotic self- 
sacrifice intensified their love and sorrow. 
They felt like tearing him from the spot, and 
laying his dead form decently in some of their 
own bright homes. But their thoughts were 
interrupted by the appearance of a large de- 
tachment of military, who were just then ad- 
vancing with quick step along the street. They 
had just arrived from the city of Cork. A 
telegram, sent to the army headquarters there 
at an early hour in the morning, was answered 
by their prompt arrival in the village. As the 
March wind blew roughly, and heavy hail fell, 
they wrapped their great-coats around them, 
and inverted their muskets. They looked a 
formidable band as they came near the station. 
The leader of the company seemed a coarse 
and brutal fellow. His massive head was sunk 
in his herculean shoulders. His manners were 
as rude as his exterior. Saluting the wonder- 
ing crowd in a violent manner, he bade them 
leave the door of the barrack, whilst he entered 
with his party of soldiers. The first object 
that caught his eye was the bloody form of the 
dead rebel. The character of his uniform con- 
vinced the ruffian soldier that the corpse of a 
Fenian lay before him. His fury and hatred 
arose at this conviction. He turned the body 
around with his foot, and kicked it savagely. 


226 TJie Mother and her Dying Boy, 

A youth amongst the bystanders saw the action, 
and his blood boiled at the insult offered to the 
sacred dead. In his rage he rushed forward, 
and struck the cruel soldier, but received in re- 
turn a wound from his sword which was almost 
fatal. He staggered and fell. The blood 
coursed in streams from his wound. There was 
a cry of rage and vengeance amongst the 
crowd, but the soldiers gathered around, took 
the wounded man to the guard-house, and dis- 
persed the people. 


CHAPTER V. 

HE chamber of death in the house 
of the Willows was full of silent 
mourners. They sometimes spoke 
in soft whispers of the virtues of 
the fond deceased. Little Willie at last suc- 
ceeded in soothing his father’s grief and re- 
storing his wandering faculties. He now sat 
by his parents, cheering and consoling them. 
The friends of the family were carried away in 
fancy to heaven by his beautiful sayings. The 
pastor of the village, a fine, good-natured 
priest, soon came to cheer the Willows in their 
deep affliction. His words of love fell on their 
hearts, and drove away their sadness. But his 
remarks were soon disturbed by loud and pierc- 



The Mother and her Dying Boy, 227 

ing screams that rang through the street. 
Now they were low and touching, again high 
and wild, piercing the air and the hearts of the 
listeners. The pastor looked out the window 
on the street, which the people were filling. 
The scene that met his view almost broke his 
heart. Three women, with long, black cloaks, 
knelt in front of the barrack; the foremost 
amongst them had her hood thrown back, 
whilst her hair floated loosely in the cold 
March wind, and her arms were tossed wildly 
above and around her. She was the youngest 
of the three, and the wife of the dead Fenian, 
as any one could see from her excessive sorrow. 
She kissed again and again the blood of her 
husband that stained the stones on the open 
street. In the excess of her misery she cursed 
his murderers, and begged of heaven to save 
his soul. At last the female mourners broke 
into a wail so wild and agonizing that the 
hearts of the bystanders were bursting with 
grief. The unhappy wife had not yet beheld 
the body of her husband. She demanded ad- 
mittance into the station again and again in 
piercing and piteous tones. Her request was 
unnoticed, and her advances repelled with 
brutal ferocity. The rage of the people in- 
creased at this savage conduct ; they gathered 
around the station, and threatened to enter by 
force, if they would not be readily admitted. 


228 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

The chief constable at last prudently chose the 
mildest course, and let the stricken widow in. 
The pastor could not see what followed. He 
was spared the sight, but his ears told him, from 
the shouts he heard, that the he^rt of the wi- 
dow was broken. He turned around to hide his 
distress, and the bloody corpse with the sor- 
rowful mourners met his vision. 

“ O woful day ! ” he cried. “ The village is 
darkened with death. From its quiet little 
street the shriek of calamity rises. What hor- 
ror must reign over the land this morning ! 
The Fenians have, risen in one vast body 
through the country. O God ! protect our 
people.’' 

Terror kept his listeners silent. They looked 
to the pastor appealingly. They hung their 
heads, and sighed ; then they knelt, and prayed 
most fervently. They heard the dreary wail 
again reverberate from house to house, and 
the heavy noise of a wagon rolling over the 
pavements ; the broken-hearted females were 
bearing away the corpse of their well-beloved 
Fenian. The excitement increased in the 
street. Large crowds rushed terror-stricken 
from the country, bearing to the towns-people 
extravagant accounts of the success of the 
Fenian arms. 

The result of the movement was now regard- 
ed with terrible interest. All classes expect- 


239 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

ed that this struggle would decide their po- 
litical destiny. As the full blaze of revolt 
had now ascended, and as they beheld 
their countrymen contending for victory or 
death, they sympathized with their whole 
hearts in the glory of the cause. Young en- 
thusiasts hurried secretly armed from their 
homes to join the straggling Fenian bands 
in the valleys and the mountains. Almost all 
became in favor of the insurrection ; but it was 
a rash and wild one, which was soon destined 
to bring its agents down to scaffolds, chains, 
and dungeons. Whilst the anxious crowd 
chatted vehemently in the street, and expect- 
ed every moment to gain intelligence of the 
capture of some large towns or fortresses by 
the Fenian army, they were suddenly plunged 
into disappointment and dismay, as they saw 
some wretched insurgent prisoners marching 
manacled amidst a military escort up the cen- 
tre of the village. The unhappy men looked 
torn, wild, and pale. The soldiers brought 
them strongly bound, and lodged them in the 
dungeon of the station. Words of pity and 
admiration escaped the crowd as they moved 
along. The day passed away amidst the heat 
of fearful excitement. Rumors came in the 
evening that barracks were burned, telegraphic 
wires destroyed, and military and constabulary 
routed by the Fenian arms. The people were 


;‘30 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

plunged into a fever of wild expectation. Sor- 
rowful crowds entered and quitted the house of 
the Willows. Night came on, and a messenger 
from the neighboring town brought intelligence 
of various disasters that had overtaken the 
Fenians. Midnight passed away with moderate 
grief in the chamber of death, and the morning 
sun burst over the silent town in all its beauty. 
The forenoon looked very cloudy, and a despe- 
rate March wind raged ; some snow had fallen 
the previous night and ' covered the street. 
The dark clouds gathered, and soon eclipsed 
the splendor of the sunlight. At last a rough 
gale blew from the northwest, and a thick 
shower of hail descended. Whilst this in- 
clemency continued, a military party started 
from the barrack of the town, and marched 
through the streets with their muskets lower- 
ed and their dark cloaks gathered around them 
to search for Fenians in the country. A vio- 
lent snow-storm raged during their absence, 
and this inclemency of the elements, which 
continued for several weeks, blasted the efforts 
and hopes of the rebels entirely. Unarmed, 
disorganized, and unprotected, they roamed 
in bewildered bands through the stormy hills. 
Many tried to escape by sea to America, others 
returned secretly to their homes, whilst the 
rest sought refuge in the mountains. The 
military, aided by many informers, sue- 


231 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

ceeded in discovering their retreats and 
bringing them captives to the neighboring 
tov/n. It was pitiful to see those forlorn and 
imprudent young men dragged to a baser sla- 
very than that from which they strove to 
emancipate their fellow-countrymen. Their 
tattered and famished state almost moved the 
sympathy of the enemy. Their own people 
could scarcely repress their rage and grief at 
such a picture. The fallen patriots were 
plunged in dungeons and left in darkness to 
deplore the failure of their schemes and the 
still distressing state of their country. A 
slight incident occurred amongst a scattered 
Fenian company on the second day of the in- 
surrection which shows the rigid discipline of 
the organization. 

The evening was dark and showery when a 
little Fenian band drew up at the foot of a 
deep, wild glen which was covered with trees 
and bushes. All their provisions had been long 
since consumed, and none of the party had 
taken any food since the morning. Indeed, 
they looked like an outcast troop, their condi- 
tion was so strange and desperate. One amongst 
the number, rendered sad at the thought of the 
dear home he had left, famished and wild with 
hunger, and terrified at the prospects of an 
execution or transportation to the colonies, 
conceived the design of abandoning his com- 


2^2 line Mother and her Dying Boy. 

rades. Whilst the rest were deeply engaged 
in laying plans for the future beneath some 
tall trees and brusliwood, the cowardly youth 
made an effort to steal quietly around a turn- 
ing in the glen which led to the open country. 
The keen eye of the captain detected the 
manoeuvre in time to prevent its accomplish- 
ment. “ Brothers,” said he, addressing the 
rest of the band that were gathered around 
him, “ behold the traitor.” The cowardly ac- 
tion of the youth aroused their indignation. 
The captain called on him to return, or he 
would shoot him. This threat only made the 
other run faster. “ There, then,” said the 
leader, if you will have it so,” at the same time 
discharging his musket at the fugitive. A sharp 
cry escaped the wounded man, as a ball entered 
his temples. He fell, bathed in his blood, and 
soon expired. 

Whilst this was passing, some of the party 
saw, to their rage and disappointment, a troop 
o-f infantry coming down a distant hill towards 
the little valley where they stood. As they 
were far inferior to the soldiers in point of 
numbers, they thought it better to make a 
quick retreat. After passing through an ex- 
tensive tract of country, footsore and exhausted., 
some were compelled to yield themselves pri- 
soners, whilst the rest succeeded in discover- 
ing a temporary shelter. 


233 


The Mother and her Dyuig Boy. 

Cases of this description were very numerous 
during the early part of the Fenian insurrection. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ARIA WILLOW had now been three 
days dead. On the morning of the 
last a bright sky beamed over town 
and country; but as the day advanced, 
the wind blew sharper and sunny showers fell. 
Great preparations were being made for the 
coming funeral. Large crowds of friends as- 
sembled in and around the house of the Wil- 
lows. A range of wagons extended along the 
Avhole street. The size of the funeral proces- 
sion showed the great love and esteem that 
was felt for Maria. When all was ready, the 
procession started, and moved solemnly and 
slowly along the street, and through a country 
road that brought them to the graveyard, which 
lay in the centre of a beautiful demesne. The 
vigorous spring breeze swept by the leaves and 
branches of the evergreens and alder-trees 
that grew over the lonely graves in the silent 
cemetery before them. 

The front of the graveyard opened on a 
meadowy prospect crowned with hills which, 
even at that early season of the year, looked 
very lovely. When the sun shone, the little 




234 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

lambs, attended by their mothers, sported gaily 
over the grassy fields, never dreaming of the 
bones of those that mingled with the clay in 
the graves so near them. Long and neatly- 
trimmed hedges ran around the meadows near 
the still and wild churchyard, whilst the ob- 
server caught a glimpse of a sweet and lovely 
cottage that reared its charming, modest roof 
over the tops of some deep, dark woods that 
stretched beyond. The rear and sides of the 
graveyard were entirely surrounded with trees 
of several species. 

Walter saw in the distance, as he often did 
before, the lofty tower of the grand old castle, 
which was once the pride and glory of these 
lands, lifting its ivy-clad and stately summit 
over the fine old elms and oaks that grew 
around it. Through the openings between the 
willows, oaks, and elms that shaded the rear 
of the graveyard Walter was enabled to catch 
sweet glimpses of distant pastoral scenes, ripen- 
ing in the vigor of spring, and growing soft 
and mellow beneath some overhanging vapors 
which the sinking sun was coloring and enrich- 
ing with his beams. 

Withdrawing hfs eyes from the surrounding 
objects, he permitted them' to rest on the grave- 
yard scenes. There was an air of stillness and 
strange beauty around this spot which at once 
charmed his fancy and thrilled his heart. It 


235 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

undoubtedly seemed to him a living fac-simile 
of those awful and mysterious cemeteries which 
he so often found described in the many poems 
and novels that he read. There was the long, 
thick grass growing on the graves, and waving 
with a low and moaning sound, as the wind 
swept over it. The moss clung closely to the old, 
neglected tomb-stones. Dense brambles chok- 
ed the entrance to the pretty walks that once 
ran round the plots where many a corpse was 
buried. Rats, rabbits, and owls ran terrified 
to their hiding-places, as the footsteps of the 
visitors aroused them. The rooks cawed 
hoarsely on the tops of the rugged and hoary 
trees that grew above the alders and tomb- 
stones. The chief attraction of this graveyard 
scene lay in the presence of an old, venerable 
ruin, which was in earlier days a church of great 
beauty. It filled the mind and heart with 
thoughts and feelings of wonder and delight 
the moment one beheld it. The walls were 
covered with ivy, whose long, straggling 
branches stretched like coarse knitting across 
the curiously-shaped casements. The blast 
sighed hoarsely through the roof of willow and 
alder branches. As Walter entered, he found 
the graves of many old families crowded to- 
gether in interesting disorder. Some lay in- 
distinctly marked beneath Weeds and brush- 
wood, only revealed to the sharp observer by 


236 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

a moss-covered little cross of stone which part- 
ly escaped between the close-fitting stems of 
the branches ; others appeared with their an- 
tique head-stones beneath a stone shelf that 
jutted from the wall, whilst the lower and half- 
decayed limbs of old trees partly covered them. 
As Walter wandered over these old grass- 
grown graves, the noise of his feet routed the 
fox from his adjoining cover, and the weasel 
and rabbit from their rest near the crumbling 
walls. Attended by an aged, friend whose sin- 
cere sympathy and gravity of soul had won his 
love, Walter soon arrived at the corner of the 
ruin, where an old moss-covered tomb-stone ap- 
peared before him. Time and neglect made it 
hard to read the words that were once cut on 
it. By quickly removing the dirt and moss 
that covered them they read as follows: 

“ Hie Jacent Geraldi Iniskilli.'' 

Beneath this old and humble slab lay the re- 
mains of one of the princely families of the 
Geraldines, who once occupied the ancient cas- 
tle beyond, whose towers and battlements in 
those days looked stronger and prouder in their 
majesty and beauty. Dark deeds were told by 
the people about the last of the Fitzgeralds, 
and the figure of a wild boar engraved on his 
tomb was meant to show his skill and address 
in hunting, and the strength of an arm which 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 237 

alone had overcome one of those savage beasts 
of the forest. That tomb, with its picture, 
spoke mournfully and feelingly of the departed 
power and glory of the Geraldines. The Crom- 
wellian wars had robbed the castle of its beau- 
ty, dispossessed its owners, and transferred 
their hereditary wealth and rank into the hands 
of low-born English plunderers. Each Irish- 
man who saw that moss-covered tomb of the 
Fitzgeralds felt emotions of resentment and 
sorrow swelling within his breast at the con- 
sciousness of no longer possessing an Irish 
Catholic aristocracy, whose position and wealth 
they found usurped by upstarts alike opposed 
to the interests of their faith and country. 

They were now coming near the open grave 
which was to hold Maria’s body, when the soft 
sobs of his mother pierced the heart of Walter 
with grief and pain. As he came near the 
grave, he saw the coffin lowered, his mother 
bending over it with tearful eyes and a look 
of anguish, whilst little Willie knelt beside 
her, with his lovely, fair face lifted up to 
heaven, expressing peace and real content- 
ment, whilst his soul was rapt in deep and 
earnest prayer. The father’s fortitude strug- 
gled strongly with his bleeding heart. His 
nearest, fondest friends tried to soothe his an- 
guish, but in vain. The memory of his beloved 
daughter, with her love and virtues, was too 


238 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

near his mind and heart to suffer him to gaze 
calmly and in silence on the present scene. 
Walter, unable to bear the continued agony of 
his mother, drew her from the crowd around the 
grave, and strove to reason with her tenderly. 
The influence of his mild religious arguments 
brought fortitude and resignation once again 
to his mother’s heart. 

She dried her tears, and felt quite sooth- 
ed. “Ah! Walter, my child,” she said when 
they had spoken for some time about good 
Maria, “ how dark and wild and lonely this 
graveyard looks where my dear, fond daughter 
is buried ! How few ever enter here to shed a 
tear or breathe a prayer over the remains of 
the departed ! All the year round it is a 
dreary solitude, save when a person enters ac- 
cidentally, or when a corpse is buried within 
its walls ; but God be praised and thanked for 
everything, as he is the giver and lover of 
all.” 

“ Mother,” replied Walter, “ let the know- 
ledge of other circumstances connected with 
this lonely graveyard banish the thoughts 
which you have just now uttered from your 
mind. Gaze on that ruined church, which, 
in its antique interest and beauty, brings 
back the memory of facts and scenes con- 
nected with its past. It, like the grounds 
which immediately surround it, was, and is 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 239 

still, sanctified by the prayers and holy hymns 
and penances which the pure and blessed 
monks who occupied it offered to Almighty 
God. Perhaps the coffin of my darling sister 
now touches the dust of some of the saints of 
God, whose abbey must have been near this 
spot, and whose bones must have been deposit- 
ed near this church which is now in ruin. 
Believe me, their blessed spirits have not for- 
gotten these grounds, which they made bright 
and lovely by their labor when they lived 
here long ago in holy peace and innocence. 
Though the gardens which their tastes and 
labors beautified are no longer visible ; though 
the church within whose walls they once pray- 
ed and sang and offered sacrifice to God is 
now abandoned ; though the dwelling-house in 
which they shared each other’s love has long 
since disappeared, still they look from heaven 
now upon this place, and breathe an air of 
sanctity over its very dust. O dear mother ! 
we have reason to be glad that Maria is buried 
here. Though the name it bears and the 
scenery it has are wild, still this ground is 
sanctified, and the light of God is ever around 
it. You and I, and the rest of the family, shall 
often visit Maria’s grave, and pray sincerely for 
her soul’s salvation. Even if this graveyard 
were not associated with so many holy, re- 
collections of the past, still it would make 


240 The Mother and her Dying Boy» 

little matter where the body of my sister lay 
after a Christian burial, as her soul, I am assur- 
ed, from the spotless character of her life, is 
now exulting in the joy and glory of her 
Saviour. Now, dear mother,” said Walter, 
“ the grave is filled up ; and see dear brother 
Willie trying to comfort my father. Let us 
join them, and then kneel down to pray.” 

Mrs. Willow thanked her son for his cheer- 
ing words, and then kissed him tenderly for his 
care. Willie consoled his father. Then they 
all knelt on the grassy graves, and prayed. 
Then they arose, glanced sadly and lov- 
ingly at the grave, bade adieu to their friends, 
and set out in their carriage homewards. But 
Walter went on foot with a youth wliom he 
loved by a different way. They found them- 
selves immediately in a large, rich lawn, from 
which the ancient castle, the modern massive 
building in the southwest, and the hills, 
woods, and fertile plains of the north, could be 
clearly seen. They soon came near the old 
castle, and entered it. The two youths ascend- 
ed its solid stone stairs, viewing with expres- 
sive rapture, as they ascended, the antiquity 
and strength of the walls. The first floor was 
lofty and spacious, and had an air of gloom and 
mystery about it which filled them with 
awe. 

Here,” said Walter, “ the noble Geraldines 


241 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

often feasted, sang, and entertained each other 
in the past. Here the wine-cup and the harp, 
and the fruits of many a day’s forest chase, 
were often used at the same time. But now 
those good old days are gone, and this grand 
old castle is buried in silence and solitude.” 
After uttering these remarks, Walter, followed 
by his friend, pursued his upward course 
through the building. As they ascended, they 
caught bright views of the scenes below 
through the quaint old loop-holes. The 
second floor was soon gained, and that which 
was once smooth and shining was now cover- 
ed with long grass, weeds, and brushwood. 
The birds fluttered in the branches of the old 
alder-trees and in the ivy on the walls, as they 
entered. The rats, mice, and owls ran further 
back to their retreats as they heard the noise, 
whilst the large breach on the side of the 
castle-wall on this floor, made by Cromwell’s 
soldiers, lent a more interesting aspect to the 
scene. 

They soon reached the top of the old castle, 
and, as they did, a noble, soft, sunny view 
stretched out before them. It was not raining 
now. The day was very clear and the air very 
dry at this time. The grand old castle, clad 
with ivy, adorned with old trees jutting out 
from its walls, and with a high and beautiful 
nagstaff, stood like the genius of ruins materi-. 


242 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

alized in the middle of that fair and silent land- 
scape. Turning their eyes towards the north, 
they saw the woody hills of Ballynona look- 
ing very lovely. The hedges, groves, and gar- 
dens that stretched beyond varied the view 
very beautifully, as they encircled with their 
charms the placid waters of Loughaderra. 
Then glancing towards the west, they saw 
convenient to them the great house of the 
nobleman, which was the most prominent ob- 
ject of the scene on that side. The court- 
yard, pleasure-ground, and vast roofs and 
belfry of the building, silent and beautiful with 
their vast proportions, looked enchanting in 
the midst of the lawns and woods and gar- 
dens in that direction. Then the view looked 
lovely towards the east ; there was the river 
near the foot of the castle, rolling silently on, 
with its sides adorned by the willow and the 
sweet red-tree, and the lawns of velvet green, 
and the bulrushes, whilst its surface trembled 
in a thousand places at once with the move- 
ments of the trout and other fishes who were 
trying to catch flies in the sunbeams ; then 
there was the beautiful stone bridge not far 
away, and the rushing, picturesque waterfall 
beneath it, with the little row-boat near its 
edge chained to a holly-tree. Again, they saw 
beyond the river beautiful, swelling woods, 
with their bright, fresh foliage of green, encir- 


The Mother' and her Dying Boy. 243 

cling the lovely, quiet village of C , whose 

church steeple and houses were partly seen. 
The green vales in the country, and the bright 
hills and villages near the sea, by turns ap- 
peared. Wherever their eyes rested they 
saw beauties which the sunset goldened, and 
which the purple mist that gathered around 
the western horizon softened and bathed by 
its mild, dewy power. 

Walter and his friend would have continued 
sitting on the grassy summit of the castle for 
weeks without being \veary of gazing on the 
scenery that swelled before their eyes ; but 
the clock of the court-yard, now striking six, 
warned them that it was time to be starting for 
home. They did so, and found the rest of the 
family before them. 


CHAPTER VII. 

HE day passed quietly in the house 
of the Willows. Buried in silent 
sorrow, the family were resigned to 
the will of the Lord. They felt that 
the soul of their departed Maria shone around 
them, making their hearts calm and satisfied. 

The presence and words of little Willie also 
consoled them. Love seemed to burn more in 
their hearts, and hope gave them joy. 



244 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

Da}^ after clay went on, and still the Fenian 
excitement continued unabated. News came 
from all parts of the country of fresh arrests 
and new encounters between the insurgents, 
the military, and policemen. The capture of 
some of the most powerful and notorious lead- 
ers excited a deep and intense interest. In- 
telligence arrived very soon of the terrible 
encounter which a few brave Fenians had with 
a party of troops in the wood of Kilclooney, 

near Mitchellstown. The people of C felt 

particularly interested in the story, as the lead- 
ing patriot was born not far from there, and 
lived alone, respectably and religiously, with 
his maiden sister. His name was Peter O’Neil 
Crowly, and he was widely known for his char- 
acter of simplicity, charity, and patriotism. 
Very unassuming and loved by all, whilst de- 
scended from a highly respectable and wealthy 
family, he pursued a quiet, retiring life in the 

village of Bally as a farmer. He was filled 

with that spirit which made his uncle. Father 
Peter O’Neil, die in Youghal a martyr to pa- 
triotism, faith, and charity. His heart and 
mind were fired and illumined by the spirit of 
patriotism. He borrowed this high and sacred 
feeling from his fathers before him, from his 
holy religion, which is so closely allied to it, and 
from his many reflections on the sad and de- 
plorable, down-trodden state of the people of 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 245 

Ireland. Strongly and tenderly devoted to the 
Catholic Church, he was at the same time an 
ardent lover of his country and its people. 
Born in a spot near the ocean possessing a 
character at once varied, wild, and romantic, 
he drew from its constant contemplation a 
warm spirit of love for the scenery of Ireland. 
The simple manners of the peasantry around 
him, their honesty, piety, and his esteem for 
them, made him feel desirous to try to place 
them in possession of their native land by his 
exertions in the Fenian movement. He saw 
their noble character ; he saw the history of 
their country written in blood, its people sigh- 
ing, pining, and exhausted, striving, like a bird 
imprisoned, to get free ; he viewed the fat of 
the land devoured by haughty, insolent up- 
starts ; he beheld in the future bright hopes 
displaying themselves ; he perceived, as he 
thought, the hand of Holy Providence beckon- 
ing him to advance and strive to liberate his 
countrymen ; and these visions filled him with 
a superhuman energy, desire, and confidence. 
He went forth in obedience, as he thought, to 
the call of God, not for the sake of temporal 
gain, as he only expected to lose both time 
and money; not for the sake of human ap- 
plause, as he was much too humble ; not for 
the love of battle and pillage, but only for the 
sake of God’s glory, his people’s good, and his 


246 The Mother aud her Dying Boy, 

own spiritual advantage. Filled with these 
grand ideas and feelings, he went forth, silently 
and quietly waiting his opportunity for action, 
but, like many such noble hearts, the victim of 
disappointment and betrayal. American pro- 
mises failed, home resources were exhausted, 
a spirit of fear among Fenian circles prevailed, 
and the want of fine weather, ammunition, and 
arms left him and the rest entirely incapable 
of freeing their country. His end was soldier- 
ly, tragic, and noble. He died a martyr to 
God and his country. The bayonet of the 
bitter sergeant in the stream near Kilclooney 
Wood penetrated one of the noblest hearts 
that ever existed. It rushed through the sacred 
medals that blessed it, tore through the flesh 
of a virgin, and made the pure, warm blood 
of the hero redden and swell the rivulet. 
Peter died blessing God and his country. His 
memory dwells in the cabinet of Ireland’s 
love, and will never escape it. His death’s 
tale was heard with distress by the family of 
the Willows, because they were connected by 
blood with the people of Crowly. It is rever- 
ed to-day by Irishmen in every land who 
remember it. It is crowned with glory in the 
annals of that lovely and devoted book called 
“ The Story of Ireland.” 

“ Thank God,” said Willie, “ that our land 
has such holy and valiant martyrs ! Thank God 


247 


The j\ lot her and her Dying Boy. 

that the number of its saints is increasing!” 
Yes, it was soon to swell with the names of 
three who were martyrs to freedom. The 
next great event that occurred was the capture 
of Allen Larkin and O’Brien, who were con- 
demned to death for trying to free Ireland. 
Oh ! what a wail of sorrow went over the land 
when those three were martyred. Men of 
feeling could not speak, their eyes were so full 
of tears, and their hearts of agony, when they 
heard it. O’Brien, who lived near the town of 

C , had thousands of sympathizers in that 

part of Ireland. A long and sad procession, 
where the green was seen mingling with sadder 
hues, advanced through the country to the 
grave where his forefathers were buried. The 
grand march in “ Saul ” was played by many 
bands with power and feeling, awakening in the 
souls of the listeners crushing memories of 
the wrongs of the departed ; and the Willows 
joined sincerely with the family of the martyr 
in bemoaning his fate, and Willie’s mother was 
beginning to get sad, because he, the darling of 
her heart, was declining. His disease seemed 
to increase after the death of his sistef. 

Naturally weak and grpwing fast, he was now 
thin and pale. The beauty of his soul seemed 
to his mother to shine more clearly now through 
his wasting features. Her love increased as his 
disease did. Her heart was getting weaker 


248 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

every day, as it was going away more and more 
into his, and losing, as it were, its own exist- 
ence. His love for prayer, God, heaven, grace, 
and glory unending increased as death drew 
nearer. His eyes would kindle with love and 
joy and pride whenever he heard Walter speak 
of the wished-for freedom of his country. He 
placed it and its people under God’s protec- 
tion, and wished them all the blessings that his 
mind could think of and his lips could utter. 
But each day’s news was more disheartening 
for the friends of the brotherhood than the 
preceding. Day after day fresh arrests were 
made and new prisoners convicted. The dole- 
ful result of the Jacknell expedition excited 
feelings of disappointment and grief in the 
hearts of the people. Amidst the terrible feel- 
ing of doubt and anxiety that possessed the 
country, the Willows were solemn and silent. 
Walter had yet hoped in Ireland’s salvation, 
though the condition of things seemed despe- 
rate. He trusted in the God that guides the 
patriot’s mind and fires his heart for the free- 
dom and glory of Ireland. He would have 
given worlds himself, if he possessed them, to 
see his own dear green land sunning itself in 
the beams of freedom. 'His wild, enthusias- 
tic nature burned to see his wishes realized. 
His darling brother’s low condition filled him 
with sorrow, because he knew that he was in- 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 249 

deed the incarnation of everything patriotic, 
virtuous, pious, and noble. He tried all the 
time to check his mother’s rushing tears. He 
viewed with pain and sorrow the tender, heart- 
rending looks and words which Mrs. Willow 
exchanged with her dying child. Willie would 
often hold her hand in his, and drink in from 
her holy eyes a spirit of patience and fondness. 
Heaven and the love of God were the principal 
subjects of their conversation. One could see 
from his blue, deep, modest eyes that his heart 
was full of devotion. His feelings and wishes 
were entirely withdrawn from the things of this 
world. He felt, spoke, and looked like one 
who wished to go only to Jesus. When the 
bright sun shone through his chamber window, 
he cried to God in words- of thanksgiving, and 
begged of him to send the light of his love and 
grace into his bosom. When pain pierced his 
wasting body and senses, he called to mind the 
sufferings of his dear Redeemer, and felt thank- 
ful. The will of God was Willie’s will indeed. 
He often spoke to his mother of the beauty 
and goodness of those souls who observed it. 
He felt desirous to go to God, into the compa- 
ny of the angels and the blessed, about whom 
he had been so often dreaming. The whole 
Willow family drew beautiful lessons and de- 
sires from his sayings and demeanor. And the 
more his body pined, the more his spirit seem- 


250 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

ed to soar and to grow stronger. He would 
love to hear his mother or brother read holy 
books at his bedside. As the beautiful and 
saintly ideas of the authors discovered them- 
selves, his eyes would turn upwards in grateful 
praise and love to God, whilst his heart would 
beat more warmly with hope and gladness. 
The life of our Lord enraptured him. He 
always loved to talk of him, to picture to his 
mind his loving form and his sacred heart, to 
think again and again of his deeds of charity, to 
draw others nearer to him, and to drink in with- 
out ceasing that precious blood which is the 
food of virgins. Thoughts and sentiments like 
these filled the mind and heart of Willie Willow 
when the priest of the village came to give him 
the last sacraments. That reverend gentleman 
came with an amiable, open face, an eminently 
graceful deportment, and a heart overflowing 
with kindness. His entrance brought sanctity, 
peace, and joy along with it. Willie’s eyes 
brightened at seeing him. He eagerly pressed 
to his own the hand that was given him. He 
gazed on high with a glance of earnest love, 
whilst the pain made his body quiver and the 
fever burned his veins. When he knew that 
the priest of God had brought the Blessed Sac- 
rament, he was filled with joy. 

The doctor’s poor opinion of him did not 
grieve him. If he was quitting worldly friends, 


251 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

he was going amongst celestial ones — from 
darkness into light, from sorrow to joy, from 
excitement to peace, from hatred to love, from 
corruption to incorruption, from time to eter- 
nity ! 

It was with joy, then, he beheld his nearest 
relatives leave the room to himself and the 
priest. It was with gladness he beheld that 
sacred person sit beside him to hear his con- 
fession and administer words of pardon, grace, 
and peace. Willie made a good confession 
and shed many tears. Penance washed and 
healed his soul. Then the Holy Communion 
came in as a viaticum to his heart, to attend, 
cheer, and guard him in his passage to eter- 
nity. He heard the beautiful prayers of the 
ceremony recited. He viewed the reverent, 
august action of the priest. Faith, love, hope, 
and joy filled his pure heart. His eyes, 
cheeks, and whole being declared the joy he 
felt at receiving our Saviour. Forth from near 
the bosom of the priest the Lord had come, 
beautiful in his divinity, soul, flesh, and pre- 
cious blood. O mystery of humility and love ! 
The great Creator, the King of heaven and 
earth, the Redeemer of men, and the Lamb of 
God, came down from his throne above, at- 
tended by angels, to visit, cheer, delight, and 
save the hearts of men. Willie with the eye 
of faith saw him crimson in his precious blood, 


252 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

saw the diadem of thorns producing millions 
of martyrs’ crowns, and streams of sacred fire 
going forth from the wounds of the Redeemer. 
Millions of glorious thoughts then occurred to 
him ; beautiful, godly revealings came into his 
mind ; feelings of thanks and joy possessed his 
heart ; and no pleasure in existence could 
equal the delight he felt at receiving and 
cherishing in his soul the blood, flesh, fire. 
Spirit, Godhead, and light of his Saviour. 
Oh ! when he took his beloved Lord and Master 
in, what streams of joy ran through the chan- 
nels of his soul. He could not contain him- 
self, but with burning eyes and feverish fea- 
tures, swelling heart and delighted mind, he 
cried aloud, “ Thank God ! thank God ! Jesus, 
Jesus be blessed ! ” All in the room were trans- 
fixed with wonder and joy at the sight of his 
wondrous gladness. They were filled with 
that sanctity which his holy and precious ex- 
ample inspired. The more his body sank, the 
more his spirit rose, and soared, giving ex- 
pression, by his luminous eyes, to its wondrous 
beauty. 

He next viewed with joy the ceremonies 
that proceeded the holy sacrament of extreme 
unction. He knew that this was given not to 
kill, but to bring to life ; not to wound, but to 
heal ; not to damn or to curse, but to save and 
to sanctify. He saw the words of St. James, 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 253 

Is anyone sick amongst you?” beautifully 
fulfilled in the action of the priest at that 
moment. He believed that all the anxious 
waverings of his mind would be dispelled by 
this, that the fragments of sin would be scat- 
tered, and that his whole being would shine in 
the glory of Jesus. 

Willie felt the grand effects of this beautiful 
sacrament working in his mind and heart 
when he had worthily received it. He then 
requested to be left alone a little while to 
commune in spirit with God. His wish was 
gratified, and these were to Willie the most 
golden moments of his existence. He was 
resolved, with God’s assistance, to let nothing 
rob him for evermore of his grace and peace. 
He always smiled and felt glad, no matter what 
pain he felt, what disappointment he experi- 
enced, or what provocation he endured. 

sr:.# 

- - CHAPTER VHI. 

OW the spring evenings had gone by, 
' and the summer ones were coming ; 
still 'with their light and beauty, 
no additional vigor was imparted 
to the body of Willie. He did not suffer 
much pain now, but his days and nights were 
chiefly passed in successive fits of fainting and 



254 Mother and her Dying Boy, 

exhaustion. His body was worn to a thread, 
and his thin, pale cheeks spoke of the ravages 
that his disease was making. At this time he 
became a prey to a thousand scruples. He fan- 
cied every moment that he was blaspheming 
Almighty God, blessing the demons, and 
cursing the Holy Virgin. He supposed that 
all his faith had fled, that he had no virtue in 
him, and that his destiny was terrible. As 
general thoughts of this kind, which he abso- 
lutely abhorred, came into his mind, his spirit 
was filled with agony and his heart with 
horror and fear lest he would sanction them. 
This fear of consenting, and the suspicion that 
he did so, filled him with alarm, and made him 
think himself the most undeserving and un- 
profitable creature in existence. His mother’s 
tears and smiles, and her assurances of his pu- 
rity and his love of God, partly composed him. 
A gray-haired, holy priest not far away fre- 
quently called in to see him and to dissipate 
his scruples. He looked like a patriarch of 
old, so venerable and saintly. Words of honey 
dropped from his lips with the purest of 
motives. Gleam.s of love and pity gushed from 
his eyes. A smile of joy and contentment 
shone on his face, whilst his amiable manners 
filled all with satisfaction and gladness. He 
took Willie by the hand at this time, and smil- 
ingly bade him good-evening. Willie raised 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 255 

his head and eyes, Avhilst his heart burned with 
love for the saintly father. He felt all right 
while he was near ; but when he left the 
scruples came back again. Walter sat beside 
him near the fireside. Willie cried aloud in 
terror and despair. He accused himself of 
doing things frightful beyond description ; but 
Walter, growing tired of his complaints, bade 
him give up such ridiculous scruples. 

“O darling, darling brother!” cried Willie, 
“ excuse me ; I am a wicked, wicked boy.” 
After this he burst into tears. Then Walter 
sighed, pressed his brother to his heart, and 
begged of him to be contented. Then mo- 
ments of recollection would come back again, 
and Willie would smile at his late wanderings. 
During one of these intervals of consciousness 
the half-witted man from the mountains came 
into the house of the Willows. He was, as 
usual, warmly received, but, as if conscious of 
the sorrowful state of the family, he altered his 
wild, laughing tone, and assumed a sedate one. 
He came to Willie, and smoothed down his 
hair. He looked into his clear, holy eyes, 
whilst he pressed his hand gently, and uttered 
expressions of love and of gladness. 

“ Thank the great God, little Willie,” said 
Carl of the Hills, “ no matter what be the way 
you feel; for it is he that made you, saves 
you in the day and in the night time. Thank 


256 The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

the great God, and I will pray for you. I will 
tell my mother that you are a little saint, go- 
ing to die and leave us, and I will have her to 
say the beads for you often. I did always love 
you, and now I am sorry to see your cheeks so 
thin and pale, your breath so fast, your eyes 
so sunken, your voice so low, and your body so 
wasted. But you are an angel, Willie, and 
God will give you the great light, the blood 
he spilt on the cross, and the crowns you often 
heard of. He wil Igive you his Mother’s com- 
pany, a home above the skies, sweet music, 
fond, lovely faces, a garden and palace, a grand 
throne, and other fine things.” 

The simple and sagacious remarks of Carl of 
the Hills pleased Willie mightily. He looked 
with eagerness and joy at the half-witted being, 
and thought that God indeed had given him 
more sensibility than people ascribed to him. 
He saw that the strange, wild, artless character 
had a heart which was sweetened, enriched, 
and sanctified by the fire, odor, and light of de- 
votion. Then he blessed Carl, thanking him 
fervently, saying he would cherish his remarks, 
and shook both his hands warmly. Then Carl 
burst forth again into his wild and witless 
strain. He maintained that he was a brave 
Fenian commander, that he was commissioned 
by heaven to shoot all the policemen, and that 
he would give five hundred pounds* sterling to 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 257 

the priest of the parish for his sister. Then he 
went through the military exercises, showed 
Willie the way to shoot constables, and ap- 
peared to read from an old paper an account 
of numerous perils and misfortunes by sea and 
land. When he had ended, he kissed Willie 
gently, and asked for his blessing; then, after 
refreshing himself with meats from the kitchen, 
he embraced the sick boy, bade him good-by 
with a tear in his eye, and took his departure. 
Willie seemed lonely after he left him, but a 
little fresher than usual in the advance of that 
evening. His bed-chamber faced the street of 
the little town, and from it he beheld the moon 
rising slowly and grandly over the street, trees, 
and houses. The night was calm and balmy, 
and the moon shone so bright that one could 
read by its light with the greatest ease and dis- 
tinctness. Willie desired to be alone for a lit- 
tle time, that he might feed upon the thoughts 
with which the beauty of the night might have 
naturally inspired him. All hastened to satisfy 
his wish, and left him alone. He arose on his 
pillow, and surveyed with joy the glory of the 
moonlight. He saw the shadows of the trees 
falling on the street, that was lit up by the 
moonbeams. He behelcj the gardens and 
houses sleeping in the silence of the night, and 
all reflecting in their look the image of peace. 
He viewed the moon going forth from the dark 


258 The Mother and her Dying Boy. 

clouds into the serene sea of blue above, and 
the sight reminded him of the issuing forth of 
a pure, bright soul from the gloom of tempta- 
tion and sin into the bright, soft light of God’s 
love and glory. Thoughts of the beauty of 
heaven, its serenity and peace, now occurred to 
him. The night seemed to his fancy to be 
filled with spirits of love from above, coming 
near to give him some rest and to sweeten his 
dreams. He thought of his dead sister, as he 
looked abroad, and felt that her soul was at 
that time brighter than the light of a million 
moons. 

The solemn grandeur of the night scene, 
buried in stillness, the sinking condition of 
himself, the sweet and joyous associations con- 
nected with the spot that he beheld, and many 
other circumstances, all combined to make 
Willie, feel interested at that moment. He 
breathed a prayer of love and thanksgiving 
that moment to God and the Virgin. 

He knew that, even in the silence and the 
beauty of this moonlight hour, the demons 
would not be idle, but that they were gather- 
ing in great numbers around his bedside to 
draw, if possible, his soul to hell. Still, he was 
too strongly armed to fear them. He had the 
sign of the cross and the names of Jesus and 
Mary. He had the holy water to shed its 
sanctifying po^yer around him. He had full 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 259 

hope in his Saviour, and he knew very well 
that he would not leave him unbefriended. 

His mind was full of the glory of heaven 
and the horror of hell. He loved virtue, he 
abhorred sin. He sought death, that would 
bear him away to the bosom of Jesus. 

Amidst these holy reflections his eyelids by 
degrees closed on their jewels, and the rush of 
an angel’s wing over his pale, wasting features 
made him taste what he did not enjoy for 
some time before — namely, a sweet night’s 
slumber. Under his safe charge he rested 
till morning, to the great delight and surprise 
of the rest of the family. But when morning 
- came, he felt indeed as if the past night’s sleep 
would have been his last in this life, for a ter- 
rible weakness and compression of the stomach 
came upon him. He grew fainter and fainter, 
and in his sinking condition he thanked Al- 
mighty God, begged of him to love him, and 
im.plored the family not to grieve for him, be- 
cause he was going to his Jesus. 

Oh ! the agony of the mother, who so 
idolized that son, cannot be described with all 
its length and intensity at that moment. It 
was the silent, harrowing glance of inconso- 
lable grief that rushed to her features. It was 
the recollection of the coming loss of the dear- 
est object in this life to her existence that 
gave to her naturally sweet, mild features that 


26 o TJie Mother and her Dying Boy. 

expression of sorrow and woe which the cold- 
est could not look on without feeling. 

Willie caught it, and he made an attempt to 
run forward and embrace his darling mother ; 
but the effort was too much for him, and he 
fell backward with a dying groan. They 
rushed towards him. The mother’s tears were 
seen falling in streams from her eyes. She 
caught her beloved Willie to her arms. She 
bathed him with kisses. She called upon his 
name ; but he was now insensible. 

Soon yielding to the remonstrances of her 
friends, Mrs. Willow let her boy lie down 
again, that his senses might revive. He soon 
opened his eyes, and desired to be placed in 
his easy-chair close by the fire, where he 
had so often passed the winter evenings with 
his loving mother. His wish was granted, and 
it was a sign to all of them that the end of 
his life was approaching. 

The father went about silent and abstracted. 
Walter stayed by Willie’s side, whilst the 
mother was quite overcome by a feeling of 
stupor. 

With eyes turned up, hands lifted, and lips 
parted as if in prayer, Willie felt and knew 
that he was dying, and pointed to the crucifix. 
It was given him. He gazed on it with a 
powerful look of love, kissed it passionately, 
brought it to his bosom,, and then, looking up 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 261 

again with a smiling, saintly glance of joy, 
expired. 


CHAPTER IX. 

OW a second death had come into the 
Willow family. Its number now 
was low indeed. One only boy, 
Walter, was left to the sorrowing 
parents. Yet they welcomed in this the will 
of the Lord. Mrs. Willow rushed to the side 
of her boy when she saw him expiring. 
Though almost overcome by emotion, she did 
not forget to call on Jesus to have mercy on 
him, and on Mary to regard him. But her 
own strong faith and hope made her feel 
assured that the soul of her child was feasting 
at present in the glory of Jesus. Ah! could 
she believe it ? There was the pale, marble 
face, which was so lately invested with life and 
emotion, now bathed in the dew of death. 
The lips that uttered words of love so often 
and so lately were closed for ever. The eyes 
that shone with a pure joy and a holy feeling 
were not to open any more upon the face 
of the mother of him who possessed them. 
The hands that so often grasped in tenderness 
and joy those of esteemed friends were no 
longer susceptible of feeling. All was changed. 



202 


The Mother and her Dying Boy, 

Death was there, and life had departed. Still, 
a ray of original innocence, a smile of charac- 
teristic peace and purity, beamed on the lips 
of dead Willie, and afforded to the mother a 
kind of an assurance about his salvation. She 
was good, and always pure and holy, and, 
though oppressed with a natural sorrow, still 
never forgot to give thanks to the will of her 
Saviour. She thought she heard an unearthly 
music, saw strange, lovely sights, and listened 
to sweet, heavenly voices. Her sense of smell 
seemed to herself to be flooded with the 
streams of a million odors, and each time she 
said, “ Lord, have mercy on him,” a new and a 
strange emotion of rapture and rest filled her 
bosom. 

All these manifestations were so many evi- 
dences of Willie’s admission to the light and 
the joy of the home of our Saviour. These 
inferences consoled the mother, and lessened 
the force of her agony and sorrow. She would 
have embalmed the body and kept looking at 
it till she died, if there was nothing strange and 
forbidding about such an action. She hoped 
to rejoin her boy ere long, and united at last 
with Walter in thinking that the dead who die 
in the Lord are better pleased with the silence 
of their friends than with their tears and unrea- 
sonable feelings. Mrs. Willow therefore only 
praised and blessed, and occasionally wept, 


The Mother and her Dying Boy. 263 

thanking God at all times for the loss of her 
darling. The funeral took place the third day 
after his death, and it was a very large one. A 
being as innocent and as holy as was ever de- 
posited in this earth was placed in the family 
plot in the Ballyoughtra churchyard. The 
clay was cast upon it, the prayers were fervent- 
ly said, and the people went away with sorrow 
and sympathy for the mother in their bosoms. 

The grass grew by degrees over Willie’s 
grave, and the wild-flowers adorned it. The 
tears of the mother often watered the prim- 
roses and the daisies that grew above Willie, 
who was the purest and loveliest lily that ever 
adorned that part of the country. Every one 
spoke with love ever after of his memory and 
his name. His father did not long survive his 
loss, but went to meet him where sorrow is not 
known, and where love and joy and light and 
everything that is good exist for evermore. 
His mother and his brother are yet living, and 
the last is a priest in a distant land, offering 
up now and then the grand, everlasting Sacri- 
fice for their departed souls. 




\ 


• 'r. -v** V .s > . 

■S' 


. •». ' 


- • I 

-I 






• » 

» 

r 


¥ • 


- 






« ^ * ♦ 






V ♦ 




m 


r-J 








. N . 


■ 


k* • • j 

fv; V ■" 


%* 

^ $ 


s 9 


■‘■-X • . iv '. ^ 


v> >* ■ ■• 






i * -. 




• • 


y. ■ 


. I 


vC'* \ P 


n f 


m 

r 


V 

- . f 


W 


¥ • 


VI 


;-r .,t. ; 


t 


. K 


'» -i*;- .’/' I.'- 

* -7 


*# 

1 


^ ■* 


*3^ ' , 


>- 




« # 


1 \ 







' i 

"1 


• % ^ W 




\ # 




w * 


“V* t 

, I 


4 > 

V 

\ • 


•• V 


i ^ ^ V-f I p ♦ ; ^ f ^ ^ ^ 

''' ■'" ;l.'^ 


• I • 


V. : 


j 

> / 


. . ^ ? ;<i* ^,c V )■ , V j ^ v' ■.'' " 

' "*'■'*■ * "^'riv : - •' ,’'-'x-'-' ■'?.-/-> -' ■’ ■“ 

% -J.s ^ ., •hr * 


- r; ■••' 


i 


;r 


f' 






^ • ■; > • " * • ^ • /^ >- ’ - * 
-.•■ . • * ■ • ♦ 


4 


1 . 


:.S 


■■■ ■“‘i 


• -■ • 


• « 


. 

i .V f. 

I • - r 


f 

J 









\ 


■i . Ul ‘■.• 


' .V 

% 




J**r - 


< 


N 


• I 

* • 

iC i • » 


a 


^ ^ \ 


■ ■ 'V <. 

• • 

M. 

• ^ - i f ; 4 

* *1 w >> * 

* ^ . • •‘C, 

t 

? ■* 

■ •. 

. ■ < 

✓ • • . 

i ^ \ ^ 

; * 4 ^ 

• 

w 

'■ )• * 

.ft. • 


•. * ■ . • ^ • 

^r, c : 

«L 

t 

i 



• # 


^ • * 


',/V;>-'- 

f* ' 

V 

4 

w . • 

% » 

# 

• • 

• « 

/ ' * "‘ - • 

4 * ft . 

♦- 

^ < . ..• 

• 




1 

^ ^ • • • ■ 

4 # ^ • « 1 ^ ' . 

• r* • > 


^4 

iM 


T ,.i * Jk 9 




C A < 


# a 


r * • I . 




»■ < 


•i 


>! 


» « 


^ I 




Mf Vi. ^y.-- 


t 




t -r 




t • 


# 

. \ 


<49 • 


♦ 

^ > 




« 4A 


\ f K . ♦ ♦ 


% f ^ 

• s ? * ^ ,-,4 \. • '* 


» / 


f 


4, 

I I 


Z - ^■ 


\ 

- - . 

4:>i 4" * • 


• • / • 4 1 I I - ,' 


’^'^' ^ A* 
• I A 

- I * 4^ 


• « 

-# * 


V ^ 

; r! " 




I 

» ‘ 






A • 


^ a 


r^:-f /i 




4 / r-;, 
\ r <• .* 


i» i 


• I I 




^ . 4t •• •'»,» 

# 


.•> 


.13 . 


#( 


4 

4ft 

•• # - 4 

« 


/: -N 

1 • • • « ^ J . 

vv;‘< 

ft ^ 

-.-■* .;> 

• >*' 

• 



^ " 1 

• « 

a ft . ^ 

- : ' i 

1* 

• V " ^ 

• S \ • 

^ ft ^ 

ft / 

,’ ft 

, . ft 

/W .’' 


S.? 


. :<• 



■ s 

• 

» 

!. 

f 

a '••».' 

- •> 

/ 1 « 

ft 

.• 

# 

' ft. 

»■ ^ ft.^ 

ft- »i 'N 

.V 

• • 





r - 

; 

* • 

. ft 

^ * 

4 



i: i 


• • V 

, \ 

•-S ; 


• # 






t 


^ 1 v: 


4^ 


. '.4 fne 


i- J • .i ^ 


# < 






♦ . 4 # 


H’^ 

• — . '• ^.4 


w 


\ < 


k M 

*'r* 


C » I • t • 

I ^ • * / '• i . S' 


/ 


a 


• . ' I 




« ♦ 


I '- 


jP< . / 

» 


^ 4 


-• •■ 



WP 


• ’ 

•*-*'. 

• A 






r 


» » 





ft ft 


I . 


.1 


1 . 


% M L* 

r 


h 


^ •C . 


ft 


• !.«'• "ik* Jr s. 




r.x •. 




•. f 


.ft 


ft 

\ ft 



t • 

> % 

• » 

, « I 


n ; 


t* 


• • 





r ; 







4 ft 

» • 

I » 



4 

I 





4 




t 

> 


V 


« 







« 


^ 



• • 



s 


0i 


$ 



# 



• • 





i 


\ 


> 

• • 




W* 








« 


1 





£. 


- i 

.A 



it 

' ‘ I 




I 




i 










r 


^ 






4 




t 


\ 




A 


% 






t 


4 

A 


\ 

i 


f 


t 


I ' 


/ 



# 




I 



